


Promise in the Sky

by Throwthemflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Best Friends, Eventual Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Healing, High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Midwest USA, Religious Guilt, Sexual Repression, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, baptist church, implied conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 04:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 99,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16695661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwthemflowers/pseuds/Throwthemflowers
Summary: AU in which Harry Styles, a naïve, repressed, socially awkward Midwestern highschooler tries to navigate his fundamentalist evangelical parents and radically progressive older sister. He’s doing an okay job of this until the Tomlinson family starts attending Lakeside Baptist Church and a boy named Louis changes everything. Harry is forced to come to grips with his true self when Louis becomes more than just his best friend; but their relationship opens a can of worms and sends them on the most painful, heartbreaking journey of their young lives. They risk everything and nearly lose, and Harry learns that perhaps only one Bible verse is true: that perfect love casteth out fear.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> I know these tags are daunting but this is an extremely personal story to me, and I've tried to do it justice. Please, take time to read the preface, I have far too much to say about it than would fit in notes.

Hi all. I’ll begin with spoilers: there’s a happy ending. That being said, this is a tough tale to tell, and I won’t sugarcoat it. So if you’ll give me a moment, I’d like to offer some context.

This story is inspired by my life, so much so I discussed it with my therapist and she questioned why I didn’t just write an autobiography. I answered immediately that I could never do that, because then I’d have no control over the ending; I wouldn’t be able to make all the terrible things turn out for good, to make the pain matter. So apparently I cope with trauma by creating fictitious happily-ever-afters.

Very early into the writing process this fic took on a life of its own, and it goes without saying but I’ll say it anyways, that I mean no disrespect to the wonderful, real humans whose names I’ve used as characters, nor do I mean to insinuate that the real life H and L ever experienced anything like this. I am above all immensely grateful for the fan fiction framework through which to tell this story.

The character of Harry became so heavily infused with myself that at times I full on sobbed writing his thoughts, his pains, and his dreams. This fic deals with teenage sexual repression, exploration, and first times, and these things are based heavily on my own experiences being a sheltered, utterly naïve adolescent. Therefore, sometimes Harry doesn’t know how to deal with situations, nor does he respond maturely; he and Louis specifically share the erroneous view that ‘real’ sex is only intercourse, a belief many kids in this religion hold as both a way to avoid the crushing guilt of exploration and a way to skirt the rules. Harry and Louis are flawed. They’re human. But hopefully I’ve crafted them in a way that you can see them grow, see other characters confront them about their preconceptions, and see them confront each other. Since the greatest guilt for them is the act of intercourse, the act’s redemption is both important and necessary, but does not at all mean that other forms of sex are less valid or not ‘real.’ In this religion sodomy is unequivocally evil, referenced again and again in the Bible, and to overcome this act’s guilt requires lots of healing.  
Lakeside is a real church (obviously with a different name) and many of the conversations/sermons that take place there are based on real memories. Harry and Louis’ families are what you might call ‘Mike Pence Evangelicals.’ For those of you unfamiliar with this specific Christian sect, it is a large swath of Christianity prominent in the Midwest and Southern US. Gemma’s character is basically a post-college me, and perhaps my bitterness seeps out through her; forgive me, I don’t bear God any ill will, nor do I mean to insult faith. But I do believe that this kind of religious indoctrination is destructive and cultish and utterly un-like what any loving deity would wish for. That being said, you’ll notice the massive amount of goodness and love in both Harry and Louis’ families. It was important for me to show the boys’ parents, like my own, as loving, kind, wonderful people, though they have flaws. Too often, I think, we imagine religious families/zealots/anyone who seems to believe the unconscionable, as monsters. I don’t think that’s helpful. Monsters we can pretend are separate from us, unusual anomalies. It’s harder to face the truth that kind, normal, loving people are also bigots and homophobes. It’s difficult to understand why they feel compelled to pass judgment, and it hurts. Believe me when I say there are many people out there who genuinely believe they do the Lord’s work by voting against, demonizing, and criminalizing homosexuality. See: my parents. 

Lastly, this fic deals with attempted suicide. This is my way of working through the loss of V.B, my childhood friend; through this fic I wanted to give him the happy ending he never got. He took his life at nineteen, and at his funeral his parents handed out leaflets explaining his loss as a result of demonic temptation. His parents are even more fundamentalist than my own, and for families like ours mental illness isn’t a reality. Depression is caused by the devil, and praying fixes you, just like praying can fix your gayness. After his passing I saw V.B.’s mom on several occasions, and I witnessed her grief, her bargaining, her search for explanations. She talked endlessly of her quiet, gentle boy who loved music, who made friends with the friendless, who helped those that others ignored or thought worthless. I felt, like the Harry in this story, an almost constant need to scream. So however silly it is, I wanted to change his ending, to imagine what his life could have been like if people like our parents could change. I needed to write this story for all the endings that I can’t control: the gay boy in my youth group whose family disappeared one day from the church, my friends who were sent to conversion therapy and told to hide their mannerisms and instincts, and myself. I will likely never come out to my family for the reasons shown in this story. But I need to believe my mom could still love me. I need to believe my dad would change his vote. I need to believe they’d fly a rainbow flag. I need to believe kids raised in households like mine can make it. I need to believe that we can recover, be loved, see our families adopt different beliefs. I need this fiction because real life often doesn’t have happy endings for LGBTQ kids raised like me.

And with that, I offer you this bit of writing. I hope, if you’ve been in a similar situation, that you can find some comfort in my words, perhaps even healing. I hope you laugh, I hope you cry, I hope you find the desperate peace that writing this afforded me.

Please, if you are still going through circumstances like these, and you feel disappeared, like life holds no hope or joy for you going forward, reach out to someone you trust or call the numbers below. Or if you just need to talk, I am always available, message me on tumblr, @hazzabeeforlou. Remember, you are loved. You are a child of this universe, the product of millions of years of stardust. You are important to this world, and it would be a sorrier place were you not in it.

With all my love,  
Toni

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

TrevorLifeLine: 1-866-488-7386


	2. It's A Bit Like Turmoil In My Heart

Rain had fallen heavily during the night, pattering against Harry’s window and blowing the trees outside in crisp snaps. The ground couldn’t soak up any more water, and as Harry trudged to Gemma’s car his shoes picked up a good deal of mud.

He tapped the sides of his tennis against the doorframe and slid into her passenger seat. She had already started the car, though she looked like she belonged in bed and not behind a wheel. Gemma’s hair stuck out of a messy bun and a fluffy bathrobe still hung around her shoulders.

“Sorry,” Harry offered, clicking in his seatbelt. Gemma had arrived home quite late the night before, and per Anne’s rules, the last car parked in the driveway took Harry to school the next morning.

“Whatever, Hairball,” Gemma mumbled, her eyes half closed, “Turn sixteen already, okay?”

Harry nodded, handing Gemma the coffee he’d made her while she’d searched for her wallet.

“Oh thank fuck.” Gemma grabbed the drink and took two large sips before putting the car in reverse. “Even when I’m a grouch you’re sweet to me.”

“I try.” Harry let his backpack side down between his knees as Gemma backed out of their driveway and started down the empty street. Her fall semester at the university didn’t start for another two weeks, so she’d been home catching up with friends.

They rounded a corner and headed East down the steep hill bordering Minkoon Park.

“Looks, Gems,” Harry said, pointing excitedly out the windshield to where the cloudy sky had parted and rays of sunshine were pouring down to the earth in wide, golden bands.

“Mmm. Same old Harry.” Gemma clutched the warm coffee close to her chest as she spoke. “When you were three you saw the sky like that from your window and came screaming bloody murder to mom. You were on about how Jesus was coming back in the clouds.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I was?”

“Yep. I guess some things never change.”

Harry sat a bit farther back in his seat, his heart thudding slowly. Gemma had renounced religion, renounced God for all he knew, and she’d made it known that she considered all the Styles/Twist family beliefs to be utter nonsense. This put Harry in an odd position, because although he loved Gemma fervently, he also loved his parents, and he always felt that Gemma wanted him to take sides. He didn’t say anything as the clouds closed back up again, hiding the sun behind them.

“You still going to that new church with mom and dad?” Gemma asked, taking another sip.

“Ya.” Harry fiddled with his fingers. The church had been new three years ago, but clearly Gemma hadn’t been counting.

“You could stop any time, you know.” Gemma glanced at him, a strand of her brown hair falling across her eyes.

“Um.” Harry bit his lip. When Gemma had announced her anti-religious stance several years back, before she even left for college, Harry had cried for a solid day, convinced she would become Susan from _The Chronicles of Narnia,_ doomed to never enter Aslan’s country, consumed with lipstick and adult things. He’d tried to hide this sorrow from her, but she’d caught him crying in the hall closet, muffling his sobs with Anne’s neatly folded bath towels.

Gemma had tried to reassure him by insisting that Aslan’s country didn’t exist and heaven was simply a metaphor, but that had only made Harry feel worse. As time had gone on, he’d learned to accept that maybe his sister just couldn’t believe. She had always been really smart, and perhaps that made it harder for her to have faith. As a sort of compromise, Gemma still attended church on occasion and mostly didn’t comment on religion while at home. Still, her views brought Harry a little sadness and their parents more; from time to time he’d catch Anne crying and praying about Gemma, an open Bible on her lap.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Anne and Robin took pride in Harry’s beliefs and behavior, and Harry enjoyed the rush of validation that accompanied his continued acceptance of their views as his own. He’d never considered breaking from them. He never wanted Anne to cry over him like she cried over Gemma.

“You’re such a people pleaser, Harry.” Gemma took another sip as she pulled into the parking lot of Harry’s high school. “But I shouldn’t complain, since it made you bring me this coffee and all.”

Harry snorted, grabbing up his backpack. “I brought you coffee because I love you, not because I’m whatever,” Harry argued, his usually docile demeanor rattled by both Gemma’s poking and the looming prospect of entering school.

“Awww, baby brother. I’m sorry, ignore me, I’m a grouch this morning. Have fun, alright? I love you too.” Gemma blew him a kiss as he closed the car door.

Harry blew her one back and smiled despite his mild annoyance. Taking a deep breath he turned towards Waukeegan North’s entrance and willed his anxiety to calm. He hadn’t yet gotten used to trudging along hallways with hundreds of other kids. 

To Harry’s pleasant surprise, the morning went swimmingly, marred only by his dread of Mrs. Gordon’s impending health class. When he arrived at her room he went through the motions of taking a seat even as he rifled through his backpack for Anne’s note. Mrs. Gordon insisted on taking attendance before dismissing him, probably hopeful that he’d change his mind.

When the kindly teacher had finishing checking names off the roll sheet she nodded at Harry. He zipped his backpack and stood, handing Mrs. Gordon the pink slip of paper with his parents’ signatures. She smiled warmly at him as he hurried from the room, careful not to meet the quizzical gazes of his classmates.

The hallway floors used to be a shade of white, but they had yellowed with wear. Sometimes as Harry walked he’d try to step on only the cleanest tiles, and he did so now, the craft of his little game serving to calm the heat that had risen to his face. He relished empty hallways; even after attending Waukeegan North for a year, the floods of people sifting from class to class at the ring of each bell still terrified him. Harry had been homeschooled through eighth grade, and as an introverted weirdo, he’d not minded that arrangement. He’d made few friends in his childhood, learning early on that he preferred being alone to being teased or ostracized. But he’d always had his mom and sister. When Gemma left for college, though, Robin brought up the idea of sending Harry to school as well. Anne balked at this, arguing public education constituted liberal, atheistic brainwashing, but Robin won out. Anne couldn’t deny that Waukeegan offered art, music, and AP classes that Harry would otherwise miss.

Harry shuffled from the hallway into his favorite refuge, Mr. Sheeland’s art room. It sat bedraggled in the corner of the south wing, its concrete walls, poor lighting, and poorer cleanliness giving it a relaxed, almost homey feel. Harry dragged a scrawling metal stool out from one of the high block tables and sat down heavily, letting his backpack drop beside him. The room had only two windows but posters, charts, color wheels, and perspective diagrams tastefully covered its bland walls.

Class didn’t start for another hour, so Mr. Sheeland hadn’t yet arrived. Only Zayn shared the room with Harry, bent over a piece of paper at the farthest table, utterly absorbed in his artwork as usual. Harry considered Zayn both unreachably cool and aesthetically pleasing, and he had no clue at all why the spiky-haired boy had taken a liking to him. They’d been tablemates in art class for a year now, and yet whever Harry caught Zayn in the room by himself, he lacked the nerve to assume their familiar terms.

“You’re not going to sit way over there, are you?” Zayn asked, blowing eraser bits to the floor.

Harry smiled and shook his head, scooping up his backpack and repositioning himself at Zayn’s table.

“Hi, Harry,” Zayn mumbled, not stopping to look up as his hand glided over a thin piece of off-white paper already scrawled up beautifully in sharp pencil lines. Shadowy depth appeared on the one dimensional surface as Zayn smudged the led with a gum eraser. 

“That’s beautiful,” Harry said, watching in awe as Zayn left off drawing the twisting forest and focused on fleshing out the little goblin he’d placed in the paper’s center.

“Thanks… it’s for the fantasy series I told you about, you know the one with the fairies and elves?”

Zayn didn’t wait for Harry to answer, just stuck his tongue out a little and carried on shading, the eraser held loosely in his grip.

Sometimes Zayn seemed like a confusing contradiction; he dressed mostly in black skinny jeans and dark shirts and when he did sport colors, they were always in some variation of plaid. He had a deep and abiding love of high-laced leather boots and tight chokers and most days he spiked his inky black hair. Also, he wrote stories about fairies and illustrated them. Despite Harry’s inability to figure him out, Zayn made Harry feel calm and utterly comfortable in his skin.

“I remember,” Harry answered, watching as the goblin’s eyebrows came to life. “Did you finish the fairy king yet?”

“Actually, I changed it to a queen, the narrative ark didn’t fit otherwise.” Zayn squinted his eyes and held the drawing out in front of him, measuring with his pencil tip at the goblin’s limbs.

“Oh.” Harry’s disappointment must have bled through his tone. He harbored perhaps an unhealthy attachment to the drawing Zayn had been laboring over for the past week.

“Hold on,” Zayn put the goblin down and bent to rummage through his backpack (studded white leather).

“Here, you can have this if you want. Since I’m not going to use it.”

Harry took the thick square of paper reverently, his fingers running around its rough edges. Zayn had drawn a handsome fairy king, his limbs muscled and sinewy, his face exquisite, his hair falling in ringlets to his shoulders. Zayn’s lines were messy and full of life, like a sketch from Michelangelo’s portfolio. The drawing would have mesmerized Harry even without the glorious wings that fluttered from the fairy’s back, looking genuinely weightless, like they could ascend from the page at any moment.

Harry swallowed. “Wow. Thanks,” he said with a grin, successfully cheered up. Zayn gave him a small nod and smile before resuming his goblin endeavors.

Harry still sat admiring his gift when Mr. Sheeland walked in a few moments later. “Back again, Harry? How many more days of sex-ed?”

Mr. Sheeland walked like a pine tree, tall and lanky, but steady. He always sported a neatly groomed goatee.

“Um, just today and tomorrow left.” Harry felt a blush rising on his cheeks, but kindly Zayn pretended not to hear.

Mr. Sheeland smiled at him and said teasingly, “So you’ll have your still life done that much sooner, huh?”

Harry sprang up and hurried to grab his art project from the cabinet. He’d been attempting to draw the bottles lined up in the windowsill; at least the subject matter proved boring enough to let his mind wander.

When sex-ed had rolled around the previous year, things had been much the same. The school provided for religious exemptions, and Anne had tried to use this liberally, at first pulling Harry not just from sex-ed, but from any classes touching on evolution as well. Between history, biology, and physical science, though, Harry found himself missing half the semester. Anne had relented on all but health class.

Harry figured he knew plenty about sex anyways. His mom had sat him down at age eight with two picture books about God’s reproductive design, causing him to have a sour stomach all the next week. When he turned thirteen his parents had given him two more books, chapter ones this time, about his changing body and how to remain pure and holy for his future spouse. Harry had hated those books; he’d hated that his parents felt the need to lecture him about being pure—he behaved stellarly, thanks very much—and also hated that every time he re-read certain sections he felt anything but pure. Mostly he’d just felt shame about the whole process of growing up. He didn’t want those things to happen to him.

Despite his displeasure with aging, he had grown up, and those things had happened to him. The first time he’d woken to a mess in his sheets he’d cried for an hour, horribly guilty and desperate to remember the unclean dream that had caused such a result. He couldn’t remember, of course, so in his misery he faked illness and didn’t get out of bed until Anne left for errands, at which time he striped his sheets and did the most thorough load of laundry in his life, using far too much shout.

Gemma had found him out, though, catching him frantically trying to remake his bed later. She hadn’t said anything, just helped him, tucking in the sheet corners like Anne always did. Afterwards she’d pulled him into a hug and kissed his messy hair, whispering very softly that he didn’t need to feel ashamed. Harry still hadn’t been able to meet her eyes.

Since then shame had come to be a regular guest in Harry’s life. His body constantly betrayed his attempts at piety, and though he tried, he really did, at some point his resolve had broken, and he’d touched himself. He couldn’t stop, after that, after knowing how good it felt to get rid of the painful want between his legs. He kept this moral failing a closely guarded secret, learning to touch himself quietly and spill into tissues under the covers. Always he tried to sin as little as possible; he never thought about girls, or breasts, or anything remotely of that nature.

Harry knew what else they talked about in sex-ed, though, and he had no doubt that Anne’s real problem with the class lay in its teaching of homosexuality. Harry had grown quiet familiar with the perversion of sodomy and gay acts through the relentless annals of the Old Testament. God could get really explicit. Those verses always made Harry squirm during family devotions. He envied Gemma, who took it all in stride whist looking exceptionally blasé; Harry would usually turn bright red.

The bell rang, and students began flooding into the art room, disturbing Harry’s thoughts. He let the sound of Zayn’s gentle humming and scratching pencil refocus his attention to the bottles, and he hoped time would pass quickly.

 

An hour later Harry found himself changing for PE. He didn’t mind gym, really, but he still hadn’t gotten used to stripping off his clothes with a locker room full of other people. For this reason, Harry always tried to get there a bit late and find a section alone. Today he’d made the mistake of walking with Zayn, though, rapt up in one of his story narratives, thus getting stuck in the same row as most of the other sophomore boys. 

Harry unbuttoned his shirt and pulled on his gym tee, listening awkwardly to the random chatter. Random, until a chorus of whistles sounded, and Chris Singleterry hopped up onto the bench between the lockers clad only in a shiny gold thong.

“Dude, that’s wicked,” Mike said, laughing as Chris balanced along the bench, strutting like a catwalk model. 

“It’s fucking sick,” Jimmy chimed in. Harry dared to glance up from pulling on his shorts.

Chris’ package bobbed obscenely as he walked, made worse by his constant adjusting of himself.

“This is called showing off the goods,” Chris chortled, tensing all his muscles and posing. Harry heard Zayn let out a huff next to him.

“Why do you get all the girls, man, you’re a freakin’ weirdo,” Alejandro said, snorting uproariously as Chris leapt down.

“I mean look at his dick, it’s massive! If you had that monster, you could get pussy too.” Mike slapped Alejandro on the shoulder.

“You know who could pull that off? Harry here’s even bigger than Chris,” Jimmy chimed in.

Harry tried to shrink into the locker and forget anyone had called his name. He focused on tying his tennis and didn’t look up. 

“For real? Little church boy here?” Chris sauntered over and poked Harry’s shoulder, smiling, not unkindly, at him.

“Um, I—I’m—um,” Harry swallowed hard.

“He’s lying, I’ve seen it. It’s _huge_. Goes half way down his leg, I swear to God.”

“Harry’s packin’, who’d have guessed? Well I’m not giving up my reign that easy, we’ll just have to see who wears it better.”

Chris slipped the thong off and tossed it at Harry.

He caught it clumsily, avoiding Chris’ naked body with his eyes. “Guys, um, it’s not—I can’t, um, t-that’s…” Harry felt his face crimson up horribly, and his whole body grew hot. He felt on the verge of blacking out.

“Leave Harry alone,” Zayn grumbled, throwing Chris’ gym clothes at him, “And put something on, no one wants to see that.”

“Fuckin’ killjoy. Don’t you like dick anyway?” This drew a chorus of laughter from the boys, to which Zayn rolled his eyes, but thankfully Chris dropped the subject and hurried out with the others to the gym. Zayn hesitated by Harry for a moment, patting his shoulder soothingly. “They’re all idiots, Harry.”

Harry crumpled the thong in his grip as Zayn jogged away. Burying the balled up underwear in the bottom of his backpack, he closed his locker forcefully, hurrying to the sinks to splash cold water on his face. Usually that worked to calm him down. He’d have to remember to throw the thong away later.

That night, after homework and dinner, Harry took a quick shower. He clutched his towel around himself as he hurried down the hallway to his room. Anne maintained an open-door policy save for when someone was legitimately naked, so Harry closed his door and towelled off, his hair a wet, slick mess, the long mirror on the back of his door making his pale body look far taller than he felt. He stared at his four nipples and pudgy hips and thick thighs. At fifteen his body didn’t fit a very manly stereotype and he could only hope that someday he’d start having more edges than curves. As he stared, an idea nagged at him, poking at his suggestible brain until finally he rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out the gold thong.

Maybe he could just slip it on. No one would know. Checking to make sure he’d properly closed his door, Harry stepped into the stretchy fabric and shimmied it up his legs. In a moment of embarrassment he hopped to his bed and placed his stuffed lion, Azzy, face down against the pillow. He didn’t really want witnesses.

“Sorry, Azz,” he whispered to the ancient toy.

Then, holding in his breath, he pulled the panties tight against his groin. He had to reposition himself a bit before the gold covered him appropriately. Despite his adjustments, though, nothing about it looked appropriate. Harry preened a little as he realized that yes, he did fill the thong out just as well as Chris, maybe better. The underwear displayed him gratuitously, and Harry liked how he looked in the mirror. As his pulse started to beat thickly in his stomach he realized he liked it a little too much.

Harry usually allowed himself the sin of self-appreciation because he thought that surely, no one could condemn him for observing his own body; but whenever his gaze lead to arousal he nonetheless felt guilt coil inside him. Closing his eyes and shaking his head he peeled the thong off and stared down at himself, frustrated to the point of tears.

“Why,” he questioned, willing his heart to calm. As he looked it got worse; Harry stared in horrific fascination. Usually he didn’t watch when he touched himself. Watching made it better, and he tried above all to make his releases as surgical and non-enjoyable as he could, otherwise he couldn’t justify them as simple bodily needs.

Harry gulped. He knew already he would give in, but for a moment more he contemplated holiness. Then, firmly deciding that on the next occasion he would change his ways, he plopped down to the floor and leaned against his bed, grabbing several tissues from his nightstand.

Harry had always been entranced by the way his body would morph into a swelled, needy creature that twitched and leaked and hurt if left untended. He chalked this up to biological curiosity, and he’d make himself ponder lofty questions about the mechanics of God’s design to prove his theory. But even this mind trick didn’t work in wake of the gold thong, and Harry found himself instead flushed and eager and entirely too needy to do anything but touch himself earnestly and let the guilt puddle inside him like a toxic rain-shower.

He finished quickly, arching back against his bed in silence. After cleaning himself off, he hurriedly put on his boxers and pajamas before tiptoeing down the hallway to wash his hands. When he returned he stuffed the thong in the back of his underwear drawer, convincing himself that the object posed too much of a risk to simply toss in the trash; someone might discover it. He’d have to dispose of it some other time.

*

Harry awoke the next morning to another day of bright August sunshine. School had started barely two weeks earlier, yet summer vacation felt like a lifetime ago. Summer had been mostly uneventful. They’d taken a family camping trip and a small vacation up to the islands at the top of Lake Michigan, and Harry had read three books, four if he counted the Harry Potter book he’d secretly read in the folds of the public library, away from his mother’s careful watch. (When he found no actual witchcraft in the novel, only Latin words, he’d been shocked. This discovery caused him a great deal of consternation for a week or so, made worse by his desire to know what happened next.)

Harry and his parents had also travelled to Georgia to visit his best and oldest friend, Niall. Niall’s family used to live only five doors down, and both their parents and the boys themselves became fast friends. Niall and Harry were constant companions until the age of seven, when the Horan’s moved away, but by some miracle they had remained best friends, visiting each other at least once a year. As a result, Harry considered Niall practically family, and vice versa. Harry loved that Niall’s grandparents had seen him at so many family gatherings that they now mailed him birthday cards from Ireland.

Niall loved Harry Potter. He wouldn’t shut up about it, which had made for more than a few awkward moments over the years. In fact, Niall loved lots of stuff that Anne and Robin had specifically banned Harry from; video games made the list, as did Halloween. Niall also listened to pop stations on the radio. Harry’s parents only listened to the local Christian station, BVCU, though he’d heard KISS FM through the grocery store loudspeakers. Niall liked to bring up Harry’s naivety and took every opportunity to try and introduce Harry to ‘the real world.’

One afternoon, when Niall’s mom had sent them via golf cart to the grocery store in search of last minute milk, Niall had decided to take matters into his own hands and blast pop songs as they traveled.

“You’re hot ‘n you’re cold, you’re yes ‘n you’re no, you’re in and you’re out, you’re up and you’re down, you’re wrong when it’s right, you’re black—“

“It’s so loud!” Harry moaned as Niall yelled more than sang, the continual drum beat and electronic back-drop booming in his ears.

“Oh my god Harry, you’re such a baby,” Niall laughed, giggling into the thin steering wheel. At fifteen and three quarters Niall could drive the golf cart around town more or less without getting into too much trouble. His family lived in a golf cart community, a fact that Harry thought incredibly cool.

“S’just annoying, and the lyrics are awful.” 

“That’s only because you’re uptight,” Niall scoffed back, turning the music down nonetheless. “Haven’t you heard any of these songs before?”

“You know I don’t listen to pop music.” 

“You don’t listen to any music, Harry.”

“I do so! I listened to the whole Star Wars III soundtrack on the flight down here.”

“Self burn!” Niall snorted, slapping his thigh hard. “You’re such a weirdo.” 

Harry crossed his arms and glared at Niall. “Thanks.” 

“Oh don’t be sensitive. But you really are like the most sheltered person I’ve ever met. You didn’t even know what Final Fantasy was.”

Harry felt his glare deepen. “How would I, since I don’t play video games.” 

“The girls are probably dressed too immodestly for you, huh?” Niall chortled again, this time slapping Harry’s shoulder.

“Niall. She was literally wearing strings.” Niall had insisted on Harry playing a round with him the previous night.

“Ya. That’s the point.” 

Niall pulled into the golf cart parking space at the Kroger’s and turned the machine off, asking, “Harry, please tell me you’ve seen a naked girl before.” 

“I—“ Harry frowned to his shoes, but quickly assumed a defensive tone. “You know what, no, I haven’t.”

Harry had felt some guilt saying this, because it wasn’t entirely true. He’d poured over the volumes of ancient artwork in Mr. Sheeland’s art room, and they contained a fair amount of nudes. Sometimes he would get sweaty and red-faced just looking at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, at the myriad naked bodies, their muscles rippling smoothly over their glossy skins. 

“You’ve never sneaked onto a porn site? Harry, you’re actually going to a high school now. You’re my age, like… what do you jerk off to?”

“You know what, Niall, not everyone does,” Harry snapped at him, stomping out of the cart.

“Harry! Wait up, I’m sorry. I just, I don’t understand how you live like that.”

Harry recalled feeling very untruthful at this point, because of course he didn’t live like that. But he couldn’t admit this to Niall. He’d also felt strangely defensive of his family and his comfort zone, even of his naivety. He’d never been one to do things because of peer pressure or teasing, and he had enough of a stubborn streak to bite back at any ribbing. 

“I don’t think porn is good for you,” Harry said instead, repeating what he’d heard his parents and youth pastors say over and over again. 

“Oh. You mean ‘cause it objectifies women and stuff?” 

Niall stalled walking into the store, clearly intent on getting an answer.

“Sure. And it just makes you, like, have an unhealthy relationship with sex.” 

Harry flinched as he remembered; he might as well have quoted his mother.

“I mean, there’s lot’s of porn that’s not like that. There’s all kinds, you know? And you’re the one saying that girls should be modest. That’s like the main tenant of rape culture.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry barked, feeling himself prickle up all over. 

“Just, you know, expecting girls to cover up so you don’t have dirty thoughts, like in Final Fantasy, is just screwy.” 

“I don’t have dirty thoughts about girls!” Harry felt his eyes stinging.

“Okay, okay!” Niall held his hands up in defense. “I’ll drop it. Sorry. Just, you’ve never once looked at boobs and like, gotten turned on?” Niall asked, his voice less aggressive and quite sincere.

Harry had thought back to Michelangelo. Breasts were nice looking, kind of plush and comforting, but had they ever turned him on? 

When Niall asked, Harry hadn’t been entirely sure. He’d been turned on by the naked artworks as a whole, but the breasts specifically he couldn’t recall. Breasts were maternal, somehow. Harry had never felt odd about them, because his mom had them, and so did Gemma, and they were just normal, just things that the women in church took great care to cover and display as discreetly as possible. Harry knew he wasn’t supposed to lust after them, but then, he couldn’t remember this ever being a problem.

“Um. Not really,” he finally responded.

“Seriously?” Niall’s eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead. “Dude. You’re totally missing out.”

Harry felt hotly indignant. “Thanks,” he snapped, heading into the Kroger’s in a huff and having very dark feelings towards his best friend.

 

The exchange had been one of two confrontations with Niall during his visit, the second an argument about religion in general. It was the later that Harry confided to Anne when they got home. Anne knew of Harry’s beleaguered status as an awkward social novice, and perhaps felt partially responsible for it, as she’d been the one homeschooling him for most of his life. Harry’s main complaint revolved around Niall’s keen observation that, although Harry believed and behaved like a good little church boy, he had no church friends, and instead hung around with the likes of Niall. If Harry truly thought religion the most important thing in life, why didn’t he fit into the niche of kids at Lakeside, his church? And Harry hadn’t been able to counter Niall’s point, because he truly hadn’t made any close friends there. He had always harbored a fear that his lack of good Christian cohorts constituted a moral failing, but he had never clicked with anyone in the youth group or his Sunday school. They all seemed fake, somehow, and Harry couldn’t get past their veneer. He poured out his frustrations to Anne, asking her what he’d done wrong, why no kids who shared his religious convictions wanted anything to do with him.

Perhaps it had been a pity party more than a confessional. Niall lived half a country away, the neighborhood boys only ever wanted to skateboard and talk about girls, and Harry felt almost entirely alone.

He couldn’t have dreamed how that would change come Sunday morning.


	3. Then I Saw His Face, Now I'm A Believer

Lakeside loomed above the surrounding landscape, a thick brick building with a pretentious, pillared arbor that allowed for multiple car drop offs safe from any unsavory weather. A swamp grew around the back, a manmade construct necessitated by the church’s run off, but it looked pretty in the late summer, full of cattails and wild purple flowers and red-winged black birds. Harry often wished he could spend church outside, in the clover studded grass, instead of sitting against the red lined pews. But such wishes were futile. He got swept along to his seat by the masses of people that filed through the sanctuary doors as the electric organ began playing.

Lakeside had a small orchestra, mostly students around Harry’s own age that volunteered their spare time, and a large choir, mostly old people who had ample time to spare. A new addition, a three-foot high curtain, hung in front of the orchestra seats that morning. Harry squinted at it as Anne picked up a hymnal.

“Mom, why’s there a curtain?” He whispered, leaning towards her ear.

“I think for modesty, honey.”

Oh. Perhaps the girls’ dresses had slid up above their knees when they sat playing. Harry had never noticed.

Three hymns in and the worship pastor invited them to great each other. Harry smiled dutifully as little old ladies crushed his fingers with their grips, smelling of lemon candies and powder. The old people loved him, probably due to a combination of his good manners and dimples. Mrs. Harris always stopped just short of patting his cheeks.

“Number five hundred and four, _How Great Thou Art_. Please sing with me.”

The worship pastor started waving his arms as the little orchestra began the intro. Anne pushed a hymnal into his hands with a soft smile, mouthing “five O four.” Harry flipped open the pages, feeling the thickness and yellow of the old paper clinging to his fingertips, noting the smell of must that wafted to his nose. Harry sang.

“That touched me, folks. I don’t know about you, but that spoke to my heart this morning. How great Thou art! How many of you needed that today? Amen! Amen! You may be seated.”

Harry scooted back in the pew as the sermon began. He missed Daniel, the old pastor. This new one, though every bit as old, spoke like a political orator and told far simpler stories and metaphors. Harry grew bored quite quickly every Sunday, and more often than not found himself fighting off droopy sleep. He had the same problem that morning, compounded by the fact that they had come to the earlier service, the one before the Sunday school hour, due to Robin’s co-worker’s birthday luncheon.

“Harry.”

He felt an elbow in his side.

“Wha… Oh. Sorry mom.”

“Did you even hear the message?”

“Ya, ya, it was, um, Ephesians right?” Harry rubbed at his eyes, aware of the growing chatter around them as the organ played and people began filing towards the Sunday school rooms.

“Harry. Pastor Ron spoke on Romans.”

Harry looked over at his stepdad only to find Robin preoccupied with fitting the large leather bible he carried into its case, not hearing their conversation at all.

“Oh. Right.”

He met Anne’s eyes a bit guiltily as she patted his shoulder and smoothed down the collar of his dress shirt. She gave a slight headshake but still smiled at him.

“Have a good class, honey,” she said, steering him towards the exit. Slowly, like one condemned, Harry made his way downstairs to his youth group’s Sunday school class. The church elders greeted him as he exited the sanctuary; they lined up at the doors each Sunday, shaking every hand, not allowing anyone to slip out unnoticed.

Harry shook their hands and nodded and smiled, letting both his dimples pop but feeling the happiness abruptly cut off abruptly before it reached his eyes. He hurried down the stairs, his bible thudding against his thigh in its case. Though he’d gone through a whole year at Waukegan, crowds of people at church, particularly those his own age, still left him panicky and quick pulsed. He avoided any eye contact as he slunk into the Sunday school room, quickly taking a seat in a cold metal folding chair against the back wall. He let his posture relax a bit, sliding down and fixing his eyes on his polished shoes, content to be left alone.

He knew kids in the group, of course, but he preferred sitting by himself. Liam had tried to befriend him on multiple occasions, but Harry got easily annoyed at his enthusiasm for holiness. One Sunday Liam had asked Pastor James twenty questions about the difference in translation between the NIV and King James. Harry had quickly decided sitting alone would save his sanity.

Then there was Ben, a tall, broad shouldered boy with dark hair and a very traditionally handsome face. Harry guessed that figured into his status as the most popular person in their class. He commanded a small group of likewise chiseled guys, and every Sunday they all sat together, dressed identically: suits and ties with dress shirts in innocuous pastel colors. Something about Ben made Harry want to shrink into the carpeting, but thankfully, the older boy had never paid him much mind.

Ultimately, no matter how many game nights he attended or mission conferences he went to or Sunday school lectures he sat through, he felt perpetually like an outsider. In their old church, the one he’d grown up in, the one Robin had wanted to leave because they brought a drum set into the worship service, Harry had been livelier, participating in verse drills and memorization contests and reveling in his status as preacher’s pet. But at Lakeside, he felt squished into a container. He felt awkward and so very alone. He’d been used to less conservative churches before; at Lakeside women wore tee-length dresses and turtlenecks, and most of the kids were either homeschooled or went to the expensive private Christian school across town.

“Nice shoes.”

Harry snapped up from his reverie.

“Um… thanks,” he stuttered out, only turning to see who’d spoken as the last word left his mouth. He hadn’t noticed the other boy sit beside him. 

Said boy had a strait fringe of brown hair and eyes so blue they took Harry by surprise. As Harry stared, the boy smiled, and a multitude of creases formed around his eyes. His sharp white teeth complemented his cheekbones

“I’m Louis,” the boy said, holding out his hand. “Who’re you?”

“H-Harry,” Harry said, taking Louis’ hand and noting how his palm had suddenly slicked up. He really sucked at interacting with people.

“Great to meet you, Harold. It’s my first time here, we just moved, and my mom’s been checking out all the Baptist churches in the area. This is my favorite so far, so we’ll see. I’ve got four little sisters and they have all the levels of Sunday school here for them, which we really wanted. That’s a very important thing, otherwise they’re all lumped together and the Tomlinson name gets a very bad reputation very quickly. They can be holy terrors.”

Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out. Fortunately, Louis continued.

“So have you been here long? What’s the youth group like? Do they ever have sports tournaments? Our old church did, but there weren’t many kids my age, and believe me, playing soccer with geriatric seniors is worse than not playing soccer at all.”

Harry’s heart, which usually spiked frantically during social interactions, had calmed down to a soft thrum, though the steadiness and thickness of his pulse did seem a bit unusual.

“Um. Sometimes, I think. I don’t go much, really.”

“So what you’re saying is the youth group is boring. That’s what I guessed when I saw all these suits. Who wear suits in August? It’s not even Christmas yet.”

Harry giggled. Louis made the most indignant face, his eyebrows sloping up dramatically as if he’d just seen a bear wearing a tutu and not Ben Winston in soft pink.

“Are you new here too, then?” Louis asked, crossing his legs and letting his foot bounce freely.

“Not really. We’ve been here three years.”

“Oh! Then you were probably saving this seat for someone, I’m sorry.” Louis made to move.

“No!” Harry instinctively reached out and grabbed Louis’ arm, pulling him back down. “I usually just sit alone.” Harry realized he hadn’t let go yet. He did so. “Um, but you can stay, if you want. Otherwise you’d have to sit by the girls.”

Louis glanced around at the filling classroom’s few remaining empty seats. “Thank you, valiant Harold, for saving me from such a fate.”

Louis flicked his fringe back, then carefully brushed it smooth with his fingers. Harry smiled, feeling something unravel inside him. Perhaps the small joy of being noticed had caused his excitement, but he didn’t anticipate this thrill making his nerve endings jump enough to send his smooth Bible case tumbling from his lap to the floor.

They sat through Pastor James’ lesson on the importance of discipleship silently, Louis’ foot bouncing the entire time, drawing Harry’s attention towards him on more than one occasion. After Pastor James closed in prayer, Harry found himself reluctant to leave. He’d liked sitting by Louis. Something about the other boy’s presence made him feel happy and content. Trying to extend the time they had, Harry offered,

“There’s a church picnic next Sunday at Burk Park, right across the highway. In case your parents didn’t know.” Harry thanked his lucky stars he’d actually bothered to read the bulletin last week.

“Is there?” Louis absolutely beamed. “I’ll tell them. Never pass up free food, that’s my motto,” and Louis winked at him.

“Ya, there’s food.” Harry realized how dumb he sounded as the words left his lips, but sometime in the last minute he’d forgotten how to properly converse.

Louis didn’t seem to mind, though. He paused and sighed before giving Harry one last smile and a small wave. “Hope I see you next week, Harry.”

“Ya,” Harry said softly as Louis turned to go. He wondered if the air conditioning had broken, because he suddenly felt very warm.

 

The week passed far too slowly for Harry’s liking. The August rains came and went, leaving the air a soupy, hot mass and pools of rainwater stagnating in sun-browned grass. The green of summer re-appeared quickly, however, and by Sunday everything seemed fresh and new again as the sun beat down steadily.

Louis didn’t come to Sunday school, and Harry once again sat alone. He searched all through second service, but Louis didn’t appear there either. He’d begun to loose hope of ever seeing the talkative boy again when they arrived at the picnic and there, kicking around a grass-sticky soccer ball, stood Louis, surrounded by the other youth group boys.

Harry shuffled behind his parents, suddenly nervous, observing all the people buzzing around the food and all the flies buzzing around them. The salads were wilting already in the heat, and nearly all the watermelon had been devoured. He feared that Louis wouldn’t remember him, or worse, that he wouldn’t care. Harry watched with large eyes as Ben clapped Louis on the back, clearly claiming him for his team. Liam looked to be the other captain, Harry noted, as the two groups of boys parted and took positions in the small soccer field adjacent to the sand-filled volleyball court.

Harry sat next to Anne and Robin at the cluster of picnic tables near the park shelter. Lots of people had brought their own lawn chairs, and some families had set up umbrellas to ward off the sun. Harry wished he had something to hide behind; he felt very exposed sitting with his mop of curls, alone, surrounded only by adults. He made himself take a breath and contemplate food. Before he could swing his legs over the bench and stand, though, he saw Louis jogging towards him. His stomach flipped. 

“There you are Harold! Hurry up, you’ve got to even out our team!”

Anne and Robin turned to Louis, whose loud exclamation had interrupted the relative quiet of their table.

“I’m not really any good at soccer,” Harry mumbled, relief and mortification mingling terribly inside him. But Louis had turned to his parents, grinning at them and holding out his hand.

“Hello! You must be Harry’s folks. I’m Louis. My family’s right over there,” Louis pointed to a table three away from them while shaking first Anne, then Robin’s hands. “We just moved here and have been visiting around. You don’t mind if I steal Harold, do you?”

Robin had barely let go when Louis flashed them a brilliant smile and hauled Harry up by his elbows, not taking any protest whatsoever.

“I’ll try to bring him back relatively unscathed,” Louis called over his shoulder, “I promise!”

Harry had been caught in a whirlwind and he felt nearly swept away. He tried to feebly argue his point once more.

“You don’t want me on your team Louis, honest, I’m the worst at soccer.”

“Nonsense. How are you at catching balls?”

“I have no idea?” Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

“Great. Perfect. We’ll just find out then, okay? You’re goalie. Boys! We’ve got a goalie!” And despite only having attended Sunday school once, Louis commanded all of them easily. Even Ben seemed to acquiesce to his suggestions.

Harry did a great job keeping his eye on the ball. It helped that the ball always seemed to stay with Louis. The other kids were awful at soccer, and Louis outplayed them terrifically, scoring so many goals in the other direction that Harry doubted his usefulness. Louis hooked and skidded and sidestepped and kicked at jaw shattering angles, and Harry watched him in awe, becoming both a little envious and enchanted. Louis had a kind of unstoppable charisma that seemed to pour from him like moonbeams. 

“Well I’m going for a burger, I don’t know about you guys,” Liam sighed, trudging towards Harry, defeated. The other boys on his team shook their heads in dismay and followed him towards the food.

“Don’t hate me ‘cause you ain’t me,” Louis sing-songed, earning a slap on the back from Ben.

“I call you on my team every time,” the tall boy said with a charming grin.

“Fair enough,” Louis flashed him a smile as well, then sauntered over to where Harry still stood by the white goal line.

“See? You did perfectly.”

Harry shook his head, curls bouncing. “Only ‘cause you kept the ball away. How’re you so good?”

“I was on a team back home for years,” Louis shrugged, squinting into the sky and licking his slightly sunburnt lips. “Not the church one. Like, a real one.” 

“Well… you’re great.” Harry felt a little self-conscious. He’d barely moved and Louis stood before him drenched in sweat and quite flushed. His polo shirt had stuck down to his skin in places and Harry could see his abs as he sucked in air. Louis exuded fitness, obviously, but he also had padding around his hips, and this revelation stuck in Harry’s throat like a damp dumpling; Louis had softness too, in addition to his tan skin, his sharp angles.

“I’m starved, get some food with me?” Louis asked, still panting a bit.

“Ya, sure.”

Louis piled his plate with everything _but_ greenery. Harry at least tried to make his food choices colorful, as his mom had always taught him, but when they sat down and Louis tucked into his hamburger and two hotdogs (not a smidge of relish or lettuce between them) Harry looked with disappointment at his cucumber salad.

“So tell me,” Louis started, his words muffled by a bite of burger, “’bout yourself.”

Harry stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“About me?” Harry dreaded moments like this, moments where cool people found out he was decidedly not.

“Ya. Who do you usually hang out with here, what do you like to do, what’re your favorite movies and video games, what music do you like, you know. Stuff about you.”

“Um.” He swallowed. “I’m not very interesting, honest,” Harry mumbled, shuffling his feet awkwardly in the grass as he stared at the droopy sauce-dripping cucumber slice still on his fork.

“I don’t believe that. Everyone’s interesting in some way. I bet even Ben is. Maybe.” 

Harry giggled.

“C’mon, tell me about you, Harold. Don’t keep me waiting.” Louis flicked his fringe from his eyes and reached up to smooth it out. Harry had seem him do this twice now.

“Um. Okay.” Harry tried to swallow. “I don’t really hang out with anyone from church. Or, um, anyone at all, really. I’m boring, I told you.”

“Well that’s easy, we’ll fix that in no time. But what’re you into? And stop saying you’re boring.” Louis smiled warmly at him whilst taking another large bite of burger.

Harry took a deep breath, glancing to see that Anne and Robin were engrossed in conversation. “I’m not allowed to play video games. And I watch mostly old movies because the new ones are, you know, immoral and all. And I don’t really listen to music either, unless you count Elvis or Christmas carols or soundtracks.” Saying it out loud felt like confessing his darkest secrets. Louis Tomlinson would never again make the mistake of giving Harry his undivided attention.

“Oh.” Louis slowed his chewing, looking at Harry a bit closer. His eyes seemed to peer inside him, searching for something.

“That’s okay, you know, all that really strict stuff. My dad’s like that too, only I get away with a lot more now than I used to.” Louis nudged Harry with his elbow. “I bet you like books, ya?”

Harry felt his cheeks flush. Louis had him pegged correctly, and Harry hated sympathy more than contempt. “Yep. Like I said, I’m very boring.”

“Hey.” Louis put down his burger and turned to fully face him. “I wasn’t teasing. I like books too. Unless… unless you’d rather I leave you alone.”

Harry met his eyes, a mistake on many levels. Louis’ sincerity shone through them almost painfully, and Harry felt a lump crimp up his throat. Also, he couldn’t stop staring at them once he’d started, because they were a slightly darker shade of blue than the sky and Harry had never before seen eyes so full of color.

“No, I’m…” Harry thought Louis looked, above all, hopeful, and he wondered at that. “It’s just people like you don’t usually talk to people like me,” Harry admitted, throwing caution to the wind and choosing sincerity over the sting of his pride.

“People like me?” Louis echoed, his lips forming a small smile.

“Ya, you know.” Harry gestured to the soccer field, to his parents, to Louis himself. “Not-awkward people.”

“Harold, you’ve never met anyone like me,” Louis laughed, touching his arm briefly, gently, then shifting into a cocky pose of bravado, shimmying up a bit taller on the bench and wiggling side to side, the collar of his polo sliding tackily along his breast bone. “I’m quite unique, you know.”

As Harry watched him, one of his inner walls crumbled to dust, and he decided then and there that Louis was safe. He didn’t have to concern himself with the usual fears that consumed him. Louis felt altogether different.

Harry finally ate the bedraggled cucumber. “I love Star Wars and Lord of the Rings,” he started. Louis grinned and stuffed another bite of burger into his mouth, letting Harry continue.

 

His conversation with Louis, and the subsequent afternoon they spent together, replayed in Harry’s mind a thousand times before Wednesday evening. Louis had mentioned his plans to attend Lakeside’s youth group, pointedly asking Harry if he usually went. No, Harry’d admitted. Louis had deflated at this, prompting Harry to stick his neck out and say he’d be there this week, though.

Harry now found himself explaining this arrangement to his mother.

“You’re going?” Anne said skeptically, raising her eyebrows.

To be fair, it did seem an abrupt about-face. Harry’s parents had overlooked his sparse attendance at youth group as a symptom of his shy personality and not bothered him much about it. 

“Ya.” The night had turned rainy and cold, and of all the nights Harry might have been enticed to go, this one seemed an odd choice.

“Are you sure you’re _my_ Harry? Or did someone swap you for another boy.”

“It’s not a big deal, I just feel like going.” Harry shrugged at her and hoped his hot face didn’t indicate a blooming blush.

“Well. Wonders never cease. I’ll get my coat. And don’t forget your Bible.”

When Anne dropped him off ten minutes later, Harry realized he’d not bothered to grab an umbrella. Anne offered to drive him under the overhang, but Harry hurriedly scooted out the door at the edge of the parking lot. He wanted to get wet, wanted the cold water to drown out the hot twist of nerves in his belly.

He felt those nerves jump as an old Ford Mustang pulled into a nearby parking space and Louis emerged from the driver’s side, opening a large pink umbrella above his head. Harry’s feet carried him forward subconsciously as Louis proceeded to open all three of his passenger doors and usher his four little sisters under the large canopy, leaving himself un-sheltered from the rain. Harry hurried to catch him up, the squeals of the two smallest girls reaching his ears as they splashed in a huge puddle.

“Louis!” Harry called, aware that he looked like a drowned sewer creature.

Louis turned, his fringe plastered to his forehead, his eyes squinting against the downpour.

“Harold! Here, help me with these small goblins, would you?”

“I am NOT a small goblin Louis, I’m gonna tell—“

“This is Lottie, that’s Fizzy, and these terrible monsters are Phoebe and Daisy.” Louis smiled fondly as he corralled them under the umbrella.

“Hi girls,” Harry said as they reached the church and he opened the door for them.

Lottie flashed him a brilliant smile. “How old are you, Harold?” She asked, twirling her pony-tail behind her.

“Fifteen,” Harry answered, glancing at Louis. He’d hidden a smile.

“He’s much too old for you, Lots, and besides, he’s _my_ friend. Hurry and get to Awana’s before you’re late.”

Lottie rolled her eyes at him but complied, dragging her sisters with her towards the classrooms labelled accordingly.

“So those are the holy terrors. Hope they don’t scare you off,” Louis grinned at him.

“They’re cute. I only have an older sister, and she’s gone at college most of the time now.”

Louis nodded, sympathetic. “They’re gonna miss me if I go off anywhere next year. I probably won’t, probably will stay close to home. Maybe get a job and work for a bit.” He paused and bit his lip. “Sorry about Lottie, she’s just discovered boys. She’s only eleven, and someone asked her at school if she had a boyfriend. You should’ve heard the conversations I’ve had to have all week.”

Harry giggled. “S’fine. Sixth grade is the worst, I’ve heard.”

“At least she has good taste, ya?” Louis smirked at him, his eyes teasing.

“If you say so,” Harry mumbled out, shuffling his feet along as they walked down the stairs and across the gymnasium, their Bibles swinging in sync.

“You must be dating someone, Harry. There are plenty of pretty girls here.”

“Um.” Harry swallowed, his throat constricting. “My mom only wants me to court, actually. So um, I haven’t yet, really.”

“Oh.” Louis grew silent. “Very chivalrous, courting.” 

“You can say it, it’s lame.” Harry dimpled despite himself.

“I was trying to find the positive angle, Harold. But yes, it’s lame. Actually, you know, dating is lame too. I’ve never been very interested in it.” Louis had a devilish twinkle in his blue eyes.

“So we can be lame together,” Harry suggested, his insides warming wonderfully as Louis answered with a beaming smile. 

“Sounds like a plan to me.”


	4. Maybe The Moon Knows (What I Don't)

“Louis Louis Louis, that’s all I ever hear from you! Tell me how school is! Tell me the latest neighborhood gossip!” Gemma rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

“That’s all taken a back seat, dear,” Anne replied for Harry, who sat slumped over his algebra homework at the kitchen counter.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry protested, the corners of his lips still managing to twitch up in a smile.

Gemma had come home for fall break; it lasted just two days, but the drive from her university took only a couple hours. Since they’d met several weeks ago, Harry and Louis had become permanent fixtures in each other’s homes. They were inseparable as much as attending two different high schools allowed.

Louis went to Heritage, a small, private Christian school, though he would have been at Waukeegan based on his residence alone. Nearly every day they saw each other, either biking to meet up at each other’s houses or somewhere in the park. When classes became a bit more involved as the semester went along, Louis suggested they start doing homework together as well. That plan worked most days, but sometimes Jay or Anne would catch them in tears at the dining room table, laughing incoherently about something or other, their studies forgotten.

Anne defended Harry to his sister. “You and Carley were pretty close, I seem to remember,” she reminded Gemma as she sprinkled breaded onions on top of the casserole she’d been preparing.

“Come on mom, that was a bit different. She was a friend from the neighborhood, not church. Everyone at that Baptist indoctrination club is utterly boring. What kinds of best friend things do you even do, study Genesis together?”

Anne set the onion can down with a clack. “Gemma Anne Styles, we’ve discussed this.”

“Not around my brother, right. Forgot momentarily that my first amendment rights are banned in this house.”

Anne huffed. Harry glanced up nervously from his page and, trying to diffuse the tension, offered, “We play soccer a lot, he’s been teaching me. We play hide and seek with his little sisters sometimes. Um, we bike down that trail behind Minkoon Park too.”

Gemma made a more approving face. “Okay, so that’s good. Glad you don’t stand around plotting how your future wives will give you five kids each to continue the patriarchy.”

Harry snorted, but his mother tisked in disapproval.

“That liberal college has poisoned one too many minds in this family already, please don’t spew that hatred around your brother.” Anne wiped her hands on a dishtowel and gave Gemma a piercing stare.

Harry nudged Gemma’s leg under the counter and winked at her. She smiled back, but sighed, defeated. “Mom’s house, mom’s monarchy. As you wish.”

With that she hopped off her stool and flounced up the stairs, leaving Harry alone with Anne.

“I am happy you’ve found such a wonderful friend, Harry. Louis is such a lovely boy, and his parents seem nice as well. I spoke to Mrs. Tomlinson after church last week.”

“You did?” Harry’s stomach had grown pleasantly warm.

“We should have them over for dinner some night. Remind me after my Bible study meets this week, will you honey?”

“S—sure mom.” Harry stared back down at his algebra, but he could no longer concentrate. Part of him—most of him—all of him—wanted to yelp in excitement.

 

Hardly a week later, the Tomlinsons descended on the Twist household at five o’clock. This threw Harry into immediate blissful chaos because the little girls demanded a tour of the house, inspecting every single closet and cranny (he suspected for hide and seek purposes). He and Louis showed them around patiently, the twins clinging to Harry like little spider monkeys. By the time they completed their tour, Anne announced dinner. She’d made a huge green leaf salad and her special home fries and Robin had grilled burgers and corn.

Jay and Anne got along splendidly and Mark seemed to bond with Robin over their mutual ownership of Weber grills. As Robin said grace and everyone held hands and closed their eyes, Harry thrilled at the positive progression of the evening.

Anne interrupted Harry’s train of thought by bringing up the brownies he’d baked for dessert. Jay stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment and called Harry an incredible young man, revealing that Louis couldn’t cook to save his life.

“Mom, please,” Louis protested, pausing with his corn half way to his mouth, “You know I only refrain from exercising my marvelous chef skills ‘cause I don’t wanna show you up.” He grinned cheekily at Jay, his lashes catching the setting sunlight from the porch door.

“Untrue, Louis William. I’ve tried and tried to teach him but it’s all to no avail. Once he tried to make pancakes for the girls and nearly smoked us all out.” Jay shook her head fondly, patting Louis’ arm.

“I say, if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. Why should I learn when you’re the best cook in the world, mom? Well, with the exception of you, Mrs. Twist. I’d say you’re both about equal.” Louis winked at his mom, pleased with his own attempt at diplomacy.

“Spoken like a truly hungry man,” Robin guffawed, and the rest of the table soon joined him, Jay rolling her eyes and motioning to Anne.

“You see what I have to put up with? It’s a blessed relief having Harry around to keep him out of mischief.”

Louis bit into his corn, squirting its warm juice on Lottie, who sat beside him.

“Eww!” Lottie whined, using her napkin to scrub at her face, then whacking it against Louis’ arm.

Louis just grinned at her, corn stuck in his teeth, until she started giggling.

Mark decided to contribute to the conversation. “Don’t worry, son, soon you’ll be married and cooking won’t matter a bit.”

“True,” Robin added, “Wives always kick you out of the kitchen even if you do try,”

“Dear, not all men are as helpless as you.” Anne’s comeback brought another round of hardy laughter. In the din of it Louis found Harry’s eyes across the table.

“Well maybe Harry can teach me, then?” Louis said. For some unexplainable reason Harry felt his cheeks warm.

“That is an excellent idea!” Jay clapped her hands. “Harry, darling, you are welcome to come teach Louis how to cook any time, so long as you make sure he doesn’t burn the house down.”

“Er,” Harry swallowed a bite of corn, “Sure, I’d love to.”

 

The dinner conversation roved from cooking to homeschooling to missions to Bible translations to life stories. Louis and Harry didn’t comment much on these topics, preferring to listen to the jabber of Louis’ siblings or conduct their own silent communication across the table. Louis made a funny face at one of Mark’s comments that had Harry in stitches and Harry whispered a new pun he’d made up about corn to Louis and ended up laughing so hard at his own joke he sent bubbles into his root beer.

When dinner had been cleared and the brownies and custard laid out, everyone broke off into little groups, the moms to the living room, the dads to the porch, the little girls to the basement (Gemma’s old doll house and all the family board games lived there). Harry and Louis alone remained in the dining room, their plates piled high with dessert. Louis repositioned himself in the seat next to Harry and started stuffing his cheeks with brownie.

He moaned around a mouthful. “Wow, this is amazing, Harry. Mmmm, mmm, mmm.”

Harry took in a sharp breath, only then realizing he’d been frozen.

“Glad you like them. They’re nothing fancy or anything, just strait from a box.”

“You made these out of a box? See, that takes real talent.” Louis grinned at him, chocolate bits speckling his lips, custard melting out the corners of his mouth in globular drips.

As he watched his friend, a soft pang suddenly pulled in his chest, a little spot of warm ache that blossomed underneath his left ribcage, right next to his stomach.

He tried to ignore it. “Even you could make these, Lou. I promise,” Harry managed to say.

“Promise?” Louis licked his spoon off messily, and Harry saw he’d finished his dessert already. He promptly dipped said spoon onto Harry’s plate.

“Heyyyyyy,” Harry protested, a grin splayed across his face.

“Can’t let this go to waste, Harold, it’s too much of a masterpiece.”

“I was gonna eat it! You just inhale stuff too quick.”

“Too quickly,” Louis nudged Harry’s spoon aside and grabbed another bite. “Always listen to your elders on Scripture and grammar, that’s what my Grandpa says.”

“Oh and you think you’re my elder, huh?” Harry pushed back at Louis’ spoon with his own, their silverware clacking together like swords. “Guess that makes me younger and stronger,” he said, successfully flipping Louis’ spoon off his plate. 

“We’ll see about that,” Louis threatened, dropping his utensil to the table with a clatter and diving his fingers towards Harry’s tummy.

Harry yelped and reflexively tried to push Louis away, but his attempts were useless. Louis tickled expertly, and Harry was oh so very ticklish. Within fifteen seconds he’d been entirely beaten, reduced to squeaking giggles as he slid down his chair to the floor where Louis followed, his evil little fingers digging in under Harry’s ribs until every muscle of Harry’s abdomen hurt with laughter.

“Uncle, uncle, uncle!” Harry cried out, everything too hot and too stimulating. Louis stopped, and Harry took in several grateful breaths, noting that Louis’ hands were still resting gently on his chest.

“Who’s stronger now?” Louis said, but his tone had changed a bit and his eyes looked somehow darker than they had before.

It occurred to Harry that Louis could feel his heartbeat. This realization caused Harry’s pulse to pick up, and he wondered briefly if Louis would notice and think that strange. If Louis thought it odd, he didn’t say so. He licked his lips, swiping up the brownie crumbs into his mouth. Perhaps he liked Harry’s heartbeat.

“Boys?” Anne’s voice called from the living room, and Louis sprang off him like he’d been stung.

It took Harry a moment to respond. “Ya mom?”

“Can you go check on the girls? I heard a crash.”

“S-sure,” Harry called back, rolling to his knees and hurrying to stand. He didn’t correct his mother and say that she’d heard him landing on the floor. Louis didn’t offer this information either, so Harry led the way to the basement where they found the girls immersed in a calm game of Barbies.

*

It became a common occurrence for Harry and Louis’ families to get together. It seemed only natural, since the boys spent most evenings with each other. As the autumn progressed and the nights turned chilly, Robin started making fires in the large pit he’d built in their backyard. Harry had eagerly suggested they could invite the Tomlinson’s over sometime to roast marshmallows, and Robin had said sure, why not.

Thus the Tomlinson’s came over on a Friday night in mid October, Jay and the little girls decked out in matching pink and purple hoodies from Farm and Fleet, leading Anne to comment that she missed Gemma being that age.

Anne had insisted on having them over for dinner as well as s’mores, so in the waning sunlight, Anne, Jay, Louis, and Harry roasted weenies over the fire on long metal rods Robin had dug out of their camping gear. Harry roasted four hotdogs total, one more than he’d meant to, because Daisy dropped her first one in the grass and Martha, Gemma’s rather dog-like cat, grabbed it up and started chewing.

When the hotdogs had been devoured and the paper plates cleared away, Harry excitedly brought forth the s’more fixings. He lined them up neatly on a folding chair as the girls clustered around him, the twins clapping their hands and bouncing in anticipation.

“I wanna do my own!” Daisy pouted as Louis poked her chosen marshmallow onto a rod.

“You can’t have another if you drop it,” Louis cautioned, eyeing her.

“Pleeeeeease?” She begged.

“Me too!” Phoebe joined in, tugging on Louis’ jacket.

“Alright alright, but remember how you’re supposed to roast them, over the coals, like Lottie is. See?” Louis handed each twin their prize and pointed to where Lottie and Fizzy were turning their marshmallows slowly over a glowing log.

The twins hurried to join them as Harry and Louis stuck spongy puffed sugar to rods of their own.

Two seconds later Daisy thrust her marshmallow into the center of the fire.

“Daisy!” Louis yelped, reaching over and nearly dropping his own as he pulled her rod back over the coals.

“But I wanna try it,” Daisy protested, glaring at her brother.

“You want to eat burnt, charcoal sugar?” Louis made a disgusted face and stuck his tongue out, then added, shrugging, “It’ll put hair on your chest, you know.”

“It will?” Daisy looked to Harry, who shrugged in support of whatever web Louis had decided to spin.

“Mom, is that true?” Phoebe, who had been listening attentively, asked worriedly.

Jay and Anne had been deep in conversation on the other end of the patio, but at the call of ‘mom,’ Jay turned to the twins, a laugh half formed on her face.

“What’s that, love?”

“Louis says eating a burned marshmallow will make my chest hairy.”

Anne broke into peels of laughter. Jay managed to contain herself.

“Well. Your brother has much more experience with these things than I do, dear.” With a twinkle in her eyes, she turned back to Anne. Harry bit his lips together to keep from laughing at the twins’ faces. Daisy clutched at the top of her sweatshirt.

“Can you make me another one, Louis?” She asked, her voice very concerned.

Louis bent and kissed the top of her head, his face dissolving into a gentle smile as he chuckled. “Of course, princess.”

The s’mores required constant monitoring, as, in addition to marshmallow roasting, someone had to break the graham crackers and the chocolate and stick them all together in a coherent square before the hot marshmallow turned to goo. Louis did a much better job at this than Harry, even making and distributing s’mores to their parents. To Harry’s shock, Robin interrupted his tirade on recent political events to compliment Louis’ roasting abilities.

As Harry watched Louis interact with his sisters he felt nearly jealous, if jealousy could be happy and not spiteful. Louis made him wish he had little siblings to look after and the girls made him wish he were allowed to adore Louis as much as they clearly did. A complex muddle of feelings wafted around inside Harry, but he labeled them ‘missing Gemma’ and decided to move on.

Although, as he kept thinking about it, not moving on at all, he realized _adoring_ was a strong word. Perhaps he just wanted to appreciate Louis: appreciate the way he broke the graham crackers evenly, the way he smiled so bright the fire seemed dim, the way he giggled at every golden glob of gooey sugar that stuck to his fingers, the way his eyelashes cast long shadows along his cheekbones in the flickering light.

“Here we are, Harold, nice and clean for you,” Louis picked the last bit of goo off Lottie’s long rod. Harry realized he hadn’t yet roasted one for himself.

“Oh, um, thanks,” he mumbled as Louis stuck a marshmallow on and handed him the rod, guiding its tip over the nearest coals.

His hand touched Harry’s for just a moment, but it startled Harry enough to for him to jump, nearly flinging the raw candy into the flames. 

“The trick to roasting these things,” Louis giggled, immediately taking hold of Harry’s rod again, “is CALM, Harold. Here.”

Louis wrapped Harry’s hands with his and repositioned the marshmallow over the embers. They rippled with airy, golden-orange pulses, mesmerizing if stared at for too long, losing their original form and becoming living creatures of pure star-like heat.

“I know,” Harry finally said, quickly glancing from under his lashes to check that their parents were still engrossed in conversation. The little girls were all licking s’more remnants from their fingers and taking turns petting Martha.

“There,” Louis rotated the rod in their hands, showing off one perfectly golden half cylinder.

A heat separate from the fire crept up Harry’s arms.

“Perfection.” Louis reeled their toasted creation in, twirling it around to check that he’d browned every side evenly. He grinned broadly at Harry, like he’d won the lottery or something, and set about breaking a graham cracker in half as Harry held the smoking candy.

“I’m using a whole half of this chocolate bar, don’t tell the girls,” Louis giggled, holding open the crackers for Harry, the bottom one topped with the hunk of chocolate.

“Alright, slide it in, Haz,” Louis directed. Harry rested the browned marshmallow on the chocolate as Louis lowered the cracker top. Gently, Harry pulled out the rod.

The marshmallow popped off cleanly, squishing down just hot enough to begin melting the chocolate over the cracker edges and send it spilling down to Louis’ fingers.

“That looks amazing,” Harry praised. Louis positively glowed at the compliment.

“Why thank you, I do consider s’more making my artistic specialty.”

“I almost don’t want to ruin it,” Harry admitted.

“Nonsense, here,” Louis held up the s’more to him. “I’ll keep it together for you.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Louis lifted the s’more higher, even as Harry hesitated, watching in close detail as the drips of chocolate laced along Louis’ fingers and the creamy white insides of the mallow melted into goo.

Finally, Harry made himself close his eyes and open his mouth. He met the s’more tongue first, nearly licking it before he took the first bite between his teeth.

It tasted every bit as good as he’d imagined, crisp and chocolately and sweet and fire-tinged, a bit of smoke flavoring mixed with night air. As he bit, his lips pillowed gently against Louis’ fingers, against his salty skin.

“Mmmm,” Harry drew back, chewing. “S’good, Lou, really good,” he smacked, his mouth half open and sticky.

“Of course it is,” Louis said with his typical bravado, but Harry heard an unusual hitch to it this time, a softness he hadn’t noticed before, as if Louis expected him to hate the s’more. As if he were surprised.

As the evening turned to cold blackness, their parents and the girls wandered inside, leaving them alone by the dying fire. Harry plopped down on the long rocking swing and Louis came to sit beside him.

“So.” Louis fixed his fringe. “You’re supposed to tell ghost stories by campfires.”

“Boo,” Harry yawned, “Besides, ghost stories give me nightmares. Why think about awful things if you don’t have to.”

“Because they’re exciting!” Louis poked his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Louis offered, throwing his arms around Harry and tugging him close. “No ghostie will get you while I’m around!”

Harry laughed, his tummy bouncing with it. Louis smelled of smoke and burnt sugar.

“Lou,” he said, very aware that Louis’ arms were still around him, “Wanna play a game instead?”

“Sure.” Louis let go, his eyes bright and intrigued.

“Let’s play truth or dare.” Harry had heard Gemma discussing the merits of the game once, and he’d always wanted to try it. He particularly wanted to try it with Louis.

“Okay,” Louis agreed, smoothing his fringe once more.

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

Harry had already thought of a great first question. “What’s the most fun thing you’ve ever done?”

Louis stared at him a moment, then started laughing uproariously, slapping his thigh and bending into Harry’s shoulder as he tried to control himself. “Harry, you’re supposed to ask awful questions!” Louis continued laughing, finally clutching at his belly and looking at Harry with tears in his eyes. “You’re supposed to ask the kind of stuff people write as death bed confessions, Haz, not ‘what’s the most fun thing you’ve ever done.’”

“Oh.” Harry had gone crimson.

“S’okay, Hazza.” Louis ruffled his curls. “You’re supposed to ask stuff like have you ever kissed anyone.”

Harry bit his lip, his flush of embarrassment melding seamlessly with his flush of shame.

“Oh. Okay.” He made up his mind quickly. “So, have you ever kissed anyone?”

Louis’ mouth fell open in mock shock and he clasped a hand to his chest. “Me?”

Harry nodded. Louis’ façade faded and he gave a little smile. “Ya, once. We were in drama class and I was reading Romeo, and this girl playing Juliet just kissed me all of a sudden. My dad pulled me out of the play when I told him,” Louis chuckled. “Poor girl, she thought I’d hated it.”

“Did you?” Harry asked, suddenly breathless.

“Meh. No one really hates being kissed, I don’t think. Unless you didn’t want it.”

“So, you did want it,” Harry clarified, feeling a stab in his gut.

“Well. I didn’t stop her.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I was curious, I guess.” Louis chewed the inside of his lip, peeling his gaze from the embers and glancing at Harry for the first time since he’d begun the story.

“What’s it like?” Harry asked softly, his heart perking up in bitter interest and morbid curiosity.

“S’not actually that great, if I’m honest.”

“Oh.” Harry did a poor job of masking his surprise.

“You’re not missing out on much.”

Harry gnawed on his lip while Louis fidgeted next to him. The fire crackled and popped as it continued to die, filling in their silence.

Harry finally gained the nerve to say what he’d been thinking. “My friend Niall’s kissed lots of girls. He claims it’s amazing.”

“Maybe making out is amazing,” Louis replied, fidgeting some more, “I wouldn’t know. She just kissed me for two seconds.”

“I’m sure Niall’s done, um, more than making out, though.” Harry really didn’t have a point, he just wanted to say it out loud. He and Louis never talked about girls like this.

“Most people have. We’re weird,” Louis smiled at him a bit mournfully. “Sometimes I wonder why God bothered making us with bodies at all. They’re such problems. Urges and… stuff.”

Harry chomped down hard on his cheek and tried to swallow the thick spit that had coagulated in his mouth. “My mom says it’s so that we can overcome temptation or something.”

Louis huffed a small laugh. “Sounds like my mom too.”

The embers glowed, painting their faces in pulsing gold. They fell into a strange silence. Several minutes passed before Louis touched his arm and turned to him.  
He met Harry’s green eyes with dusky blue, their normal brilliance muted by the smoke and aura of the fire.

“This,” he said.

Harry quirked his head in question, his curls tilting.

“This,” Louis continued, “Is the most fun thing I’ve ever done.”

It took Harry by surprise when Louis stretched out his arm and pulled Harry against him in a half-hug, his hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder gently.

Harry curled into him. Unlike the usual myriad of cuddles Louis doled out, this felt different; Harry could feel the power of it, a something that made his heart beat thickly in his ear.

They sat like that a while, the embers eventually illuminating only their noses and cheekbones and the knuckles of their fingers.

The sound of the screen door opening jolted Harry back to reality. He nearly jumped, and Louis pulled away quickly.

“Boys, time to go, the Tomlinson’s are heading home,” Anne called, not even bothering to look out at them.

“See ya, Haz,” Louis whispered as he stood, smoothing his jacket down.

At that moment, the tiny ache Harry had felt once before returned and opened up into a gaping cavity inside his chest, below his left lung, and it stung with emptiness like a concave balloon. It begged to be filled, to be inflated, yet it also itched and burned and hurt, and Harry felt these things all at once as Louis stood looking down on him, and he had no words to describe them. He only knew that he desperately wanted Louis to stay.

“Bye,” Harry made himself smile through the ache. “We can hang out tomorrow, right?”

Louis nodded, “’Course, Haz. It’s Saturday, after all.”

“’Kay.” Harry pulled his arms together over his chest, a feeble attempt to plug his newly formed hole.

He watched Louis open the screen door and close it behind him. The ache hurt so much that he groaned up to the sky, tilting his head back to look up at the stars and crescent moon. The heavens shone bright and beautiful, and Harry felt a sort of commonality with them; he wondered what the moon thought, looking down on two boys and a fading fire. Maybe the moon knew, maybe it understood why Harry ached with pain. Harry wished he could understand, too.


	5. And The Oddness Never Mattered To Him

Chance had regarded Harry with apprehensive suspicion since the first day they’d met; Harry guessed that Chance resented him for stealing the title of ‘Louis’ best friend.’ He didn’t feel too guilty about this, though, because, as he informed Chance one day when the large black lab purposely thwacked him in the groin with his tail, what dog would be able to do homework alongside Louis? Or bike Minkoon park’s back trails? Or create new types of horrible sandwiches by raiding Jay’s kitchen? Or talk for hours on end about geeky things?

No, these were human activities. Chance remained disgruntled for a while, but eventually he accepted Harry into his circle of trust. The dog even started to greet Harry with sloppy, wet kisses, much to Harry’s discomfort, as these affectionate licks were usually doled out directly after Chance had searched out and eaten all the rabbit droppings in the Tomlinson’s yard. He ignored Harry now, instead sniffing around in the garden as they both awaited Louis’ return from getting a glass of water.

Louis’ backyard contained a very large maple tree, to which Mark had attached a long swing. Boredom more than anything else made Harry climb into said swing, the padding of his hips sticking out the sides. It had been made for smaller clientele. The girls were running about in the back garden, shuffling in and out of their little wooden clubhouse. Harry let their chatter become background noise while he pumped his legs in a steady inner rhythm, pushing himself through the cool fall air.

He startled when something thrust against his back, cantoning him forward, swinging him up and up, nearly parallel with the branch.

“Found the swing, I see,” Louis laughed as Harry dipped back down, passing him briefly on his backwards ascent.

“You scared my socks off, Lou,” Harry breathed, his knuckles white around the swing ropes.

“My bad,” Louis smirked, his hands pressed against his cheeks in a Munchian look of mock horror.

“You’re awful,” Harry giggled as he swung past yet again, but then Louis grabbed the ropes and pulled him to a jerky stop, the momentum swirling Harry around in a twisty spiral.

“I can be more awful,” Louis chortled, a devilish grin on his face.

“Do I want to know…”

“’Course you do. Knees together, Harold, and keep your elbows in.”

Harry complied, as he always did.

Louis started to twirl him, wrapping the ropes up in twist upon twist until Harry’s body had hiked even farther off the ground and Louis had to hold on to each twist tightly least it unravel. Soon he started grunting with the effort.

“Lou,” Harry questioned, beginning to get worried as his toes were a good foot off the ground, “What exactly are you doing to me?”

“I’m letting you GO!” Louis exclaimed, suddenly twisting Harry robustly in the unwinding direction and springing back.

Harry only had a split second before his world became all torque and drag, his senses unable to keep up with how quickly the swing kept unraveling around him. He gave up trying to see and closed his eyes tightly, squeezing himself inwards as much as possible, his brain registering the reckless uncertainty of his safety… 

It did feel like flying, though. For a few short moments Harry felt the drag on his arms and the wind through his hair. His tightly curled limbs begged to pull apart and he imagined falling from a plane would feel similar, that the air would make you expand yourself like a parachute, that it would become stronger than your own muscles.

The swing finally slowed. As Harry opened his eyes he began to feel very, very sick. He flailed out his arms, thinking he clutched at Louis, but instead he only touched hazy air.

“Steady, Harold, there we go,” Louis shushed as he stopped the swing and let Harry grasp him.

“Louuuuuu,” Harry moaned, not even attempting to stand, “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Nah, you’re fine. Just give it a second.”

“Louuuuuu,” Harry closed his eyes again and leaned his head on Louis’ chest, his stomach begging for swift death.

“S’fun, isn’t it? Best thing about this house.”

Harry managed to pull away and give Louis a very un-centered and yet still piercing glare of disbelief.

“If I throw up on you, I’m not even sorry,” Harry whined, finally toeing at the earth beneath him, half surprised to find it still solid.

“You won’t, everyone feels like that.” Louis helped him up, more or less cradling Harry’s whole body weight against him.

“No, Lou, I’m going—actually—“ Harry pushed away from him and barely managed to heave into the flowerbed behind the shrubs, coughing almost as much as he was puking.

That same instant Louis’ hands were on him, Louis’ voice in his ear.

“Hazza! Haz? Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, you’re actually sick. Oh my gosh, Haz, I’m so sorry,” Louis babbled, his fingers hot and steady and insistent on Harry’s waist.

When Harry coughed his last and unbent himself all four little girls had surrounded him, and Louis still held him tightly.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Lottie looked ashen with concern.

“I’m getting mommy,” Daisy said, and ran into the house, hollering.

“I think we have some gingerale downstairs,” Fizzy offered, walking off on her mission.

Phoebe just looked at Harry and wrinkled her nose. “You smell bad.”

“Pheebs!” Louis shot her a look, and she scuttled. Louis pulled Harry against him again.

“C’mon, Haz, let’s go inside, rinse you off, okay? That’s it, walk with me.”

Louis led him towards the patio door, still keeping a tight hold as Harry’s feet were a bit more wobbly and awkward than usual. Lottie followed close behind them, shadowing their every move. By the time they made it to the door, Jay had hurried out.

“Darling, what happened?” Jay went into full mother mode, taking in the scene before swooping in.

“I put Harry on the swing and spun him,” Louis admitted guiltily, but Jay cut him off.

“I figured that, Louis. I was asking Harry.”

“Oh.” Harry’s mouth felt thick and gross. “I just… got really dizzy... I threw up in the garden… I’m sorry…” Harry could smell his own acrid breath.

“Okay, inside the lot of you,” Jay took Harry from Louis and guided him to the bathroom. She found a spare toothbrush and paste, and Fizzy deposited an opened can of soda on the counter.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, equal parts embarrassed and grateful. He cleaned up as quickly as his still spinning head would let him, then came back to the kitchen, sipping slowly on the bubbly drink.

Louis sat slumped in a chair, looking like he’d unintentionally murdered a cluster of puppies.

“Haz!” He sprang up when he saw Harry and unnecessarily helped him to a seat. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I thought you’d be fine, I spin the girls almost every day, and all their friends, and I figured—“

“Lou, it’s okay,” Harry cut him off, smiling at his concern. “I’m okay, honest. I get motion sick really easy,” Harry assured him. “I can’t even look down in the car.”

Louis didn’t stop rubbing his hand comfortingly up and down Harry’s back. “M’so sorry, Harry. I’ll do a month of penance to make up for it?”

“Penance is for Catholics, Lou,” Harry grinned, perhaps arching a bit into the warmth of Louis’ palm.

“Tribute then. Let me pay you tribute.”

“Lou,” Harry shook his head, his smile widening.

“A thousand pounds o’ booty, and me best three wives! I’ll even throw in me new peg leg, ‘ow’s that sound?”

Harry cracked, giggles spilling from between his fingers where he’d slapped a hand over his mouth. Louis beamed at him, joyous he’d been able to cheer Harry up, but still holding a soft apology behind his eyes. Harry ached again, suddenly, like a tidal wave had surged beneath his ribcage. He wanted to translate their gazes into a tangible creature.

“I’ll take a hug as tribute,” Harry said softly, his words falling like blossom petals between them.

Louis didn’t hesitate, just launched himself towards Harry and folded him in his arms.

Louis’ hugs were Harry’s favorite sensation. They were warm and steady and gentle, yet never stiff or lifeless. They beat with an energy that seemed to feed the ache in him, if only just a little. So it was with this hug, though at the end of it, when Louis started to stand, his breath moved against Harry’s curls and warmed his scalp and moments later Harry felt the other boy’s lips touch the crown of his head, atop his hair.

The kiss seemed an afterthought, perhaps, or maybe even unintentional, but it made Harry feel safe and warm like an autumn sunset and he wanted to cuddle into Louis and never leave his care.

“All better?” Louis whispered. When Harry raised his eyes to look, Louis’ pupils were large, shining and bottomless.

Harry had to turn away and blink because he could feel his cheeks tinting. “All better,” he repeated, a shiver running down his spine.

 

October passed by quickly, the days dissolving into one another until the thirty-first came upon Harry in all it’s Halloween glory. Obviously, no one from Lakeside celebrated Halloween, and it had been ingrained upon Harry since childhood that the day marked only evil and depravity. Witches cast spells that day, his Grandma always said, and people kidnapped children for sacrifices. Every Halloween night, Anne would close their blinds early and turn off the lights, presenting a seemingly empty house for any potential trick-or-treaters.

Of course, knowing the evils of Halloween didn’t prevent Harry from envying its better parts. He loved costumes and adored free candy, like every other kid. Recognizing this as a more or less universal problem, churches like Lakeside held Fall Fests, an alternative Halloween complete with carnival games and candy wining and costume contests, minus the demons and grim reapers. Lakeside chose _The King’s Court_ for its Fall Fest theme this year, but since Harry had found a massively giant robe at their neighbor’s rummage sale the previous week, he planned on going as a Jedi.

He tugged at the oversized garment one last time, unsatisfied with how it hung over the faux leather pants he’d stolen from Gemma’s dresser. Anne’s old hair straitener smelled as it heated on his dresser, filling his room with the scent of hot plastic.

“Hazza?” Harry heard from downstairs, followed by the squeal of little voices and the closing of his front door.

Harry threw off the robe and galloped down the steps to find Louis and his sisters waiting in the entranceway.

“There you are, Harold.” Louis wore head to toe soft grey: a grey hoodie and sweatpants, grey socks, and grey mittens. A headband of bunny ears sat atop his head and, as he turned around, Harry saw a white cottonball tail pinned above his butt. Painted whiskers striped across his cheeks and a black triangle covered the tip of his nose.

“You’re a rabbit?” Harry giggled, but Louis looked so adorable he really couldn’t protest.

“I’m ACTUALLY honoring the theme, you traitorous Jedi.” Louis winked at him, his whiskers crinkling up. “I’m absolutely sure feudal European courts kept rabbits.”

“Ya, to eat,” mumbled Fizzy, who had obviously brought that point up before.

“Harry! Do I look pretty?” Daisy twirled in front of him, her and Phoebe’s matching princess dresses all sparkle and shine.

“You’re both very pretty.” Harry bent and took their little hands, pretending to kiss their fingers before suddenly blowing raspberries. The twins shrieked.

“Can we go?” Lottie asked, herself dressed as a jester, Fizzy beside her wearing a knight’s costume complete with rubber sword.

“You girls wait here, I need to help Harry with his hair. We’ll be right back.”

The girls plopped themselves on the couch as Harry led the way upstairs, acutely aware that Louis had never been to his room with him alone before. They always did homework in the dining room.

The plastic smell had gotten much worse.

“What’s that?” Louis wrinkled his nose upon entering.

“The straitener. I don’t know if it was such a good idea, now.”

“Nah, Luke Skywalker didn’t have curly hair, you’ve got to commit to the character.”

Louis picked the hot instrument up and motioned Harry over. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Harry turned around, a little nervous.

“Why don’t you… here, sit on your bed. S’a bit hard to reach otherwise.”

Harry giggled. “Am I too tall for you, Lou?”

“Don’t push it, curly.” Louis tugged on his hair fondly.

Harry could feel him sectioning off bits and clamping the iron down. He guessed Louis had gotten halfway through when he abruptly laid the iron down on Harry’s comforter.

“What on earth is THAT?” Louis asked, reaching out and grabbing Azzy from where he lay against Harry’s pillow.

Harry had forgotten to remove the stuffed animal before Louis arrived. He flushed in mortification.

“Er, just…”

“Is it a lion?” Louis asked, turning the squished, deformed, matted toy around in his hands. “I can barely tell anymore.”

“Um. Ya. His name is Azzy. I got him when I was eight.” Harry wanted to melt into his mattress.

“Really?” Louis did the worst thing, then, and snuggled the animal to him, bending to inhale the toy’s gnarly fur.

“Smells like you. Do you sleep with him?”

Harry swallowed. He normally would have changed the subject or just run from the room. But maybe Louis wouldn’t care.

“Ya. Every night. I can’t sleep without him, really.”

Louis didn’t say anything, just gently set the stuffed animal back on Harry’s pillow and gave it a little pat on its matted head.

“He’s almost real, don’t you think?” Louis smiled at Harry, his eyes twinkling.

“Huh?” Harry met his iris’ and fell into them, into the soft blue that looked almost aqua in the sunlight from his window.

“You know, like the Velveteen Rabbit. Gosh, I’ve read that book so many times to my sisters. When you love a toy enough, and it starts to fall apart, that’s when it becomes real.”

Harry tore his gaze away and looked at Azzy’s scratched button eyes and worn-thin moleskin nose.

“I suppose he’s a good candidate. How does it happen?”

“Well,” Louis grew excited, “Out of the old toy’s tear, a flower grows, and out of the flower comes this magical fairy, and she turns the toy real. The book’s illustrations don’t quite do it justice, in my opinion. It’s all supposed to be very magical and glittery.” Louis mimed fairy wings with his arms.

Harry just sat and admired him. Louis’ bunny ears wiggled atop his head as he spoke.

“So you don’t… think it’s weird.” Harry swallowed thickly.

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “Weird? Harry,” Louis tugged at his curls and once again picked up the straitener. “Of course you’re weird. I don’t know anyone else our age who sleeps with a stuffed animal.”

Harry turned around, his cheeks burning. “Oh.” Louis’ fingers were still tangled in his hair.

“Hazza.” Louis took his shoulders and turned him back. “I like you weird.”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet Louis’.

“I—I mean that’s what makes you special. Everyone else is so boring and you’re…” Louis licked his lips and smoothed a curl near Harry’s temple. “You’re weird. And I like it.”

Harry stared at Louis, openmouthed and blushing. Louis’ lips tugged up into a little smile.

“Come on, Luke Skywalker, we’ve got half a head to finish and then a whole escort of princesses to get to this thing.”

Harry let Louis continue straitening. He wanted to say ‘thanks for not making fun of me’ but it sounded lame in his head.

It took only a couple more minutes for Louis to finish undoing his curls. He stood Harry up when he’d finished and guided him to the mirror.

“Look at that, a perfect seventies’ bowl cut,” Louis said, grinning ear to ear. Harry admired the oval shape of his head in the mirror.

“I look so odd,” he remarked, running his fingers through his strait fringe.

“To be honest, that kind of killed me, destroying those beautiful curls of yours. But, character can’t be compromised, first rule of drama.” Louis sighed as if he’d made a huge sacrifice.

Harry mustered his courage. “Um, Lou?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re pretty weird too,” Harry said, looking at Louis via the mirror, and even though their eyes met through a pane of glass, Harry felt a jolt go through him.

“C’mon. Let’s go be weird together.”

The Jedi and rabbit left Harry’s room, their shoulders bumping.

 

Harry and Louis had an obscene amount of fun at the Fall Fest despite spending much of it escorting the girls around to various games, face-painting booths, and cake-walks. By the time they pulled into Harry’s driveway once again the twins were obnoxiously high on sugar and Lottie and Fizzy were using every ounce of their pre-teen prowess to control them in the back seat. Daisy escaped their watch for one second, however, and pushed the car door open, tearing off onto Harry’s front lawn, twirling around in her princess dress as she screamed, “Come catch me, Louis!”

Louis turned the car off and rolled his eyes. “Guess we’re not just dropping you off, Hazza. Alright, everybody out, but no sneaking away to get more candy, understood? Mom’s gonna kill me as it is.” He bent towards Harry’s ear and whispered, “They won’t sleep ‘til 3am. I’m so dead.”

Harry unbuckled his seatbelt and popped his door open just as the other three girls tumbled out to join Daisy in dancing around the front yard. Harry’s neighbors always decorated extravagantly for Halloween, so the whole block sparkled with ghoulish lanterns and colored lights.

“Maybe this will get out all their energy?” Harry suggested, watching Fizzy and Phoebe clasp hands and spin each other around until they fell to the grass giggling.

“That’s my only hope,” Louis sighed.

Harry snickered.

“What?” Louis eyed him.

“’Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,’” Harry quoted, barely ducking out his door in time to avoid Louis’ well-aimed swat.

“That’s not even funny, Harold!” Louis moaned, climbing out the driver’s side and coming to sit next to Harry, who had plopped down on his front steps. “Your costume’s gone to your head,” he teased, brushing at Harry’s still-strait hair.

“You know half your tail’s gone, right?” Harry asked, motioning to Louis’ backside.

“I thought I felt something depart from my rear. Oh well. Honestly I didn’t expect cotton balls and glue to last this long, so—well hello there,” Louis interrupted himself and stared at Anne’s mostly dead peony bushes that flanked their front door.

“Louis! Watch out!” Lottie screeched, protectively huddling around her sisters.

Harry couldn’t see anything at first, but then from the browning leaves two brilliant yellow eyes stared up at him. A lithe black cat emerged, walking directly towards Louis.

“Louis get away!” Daisy yelled next, all the girls wide-eyed and pointing.

“It’s okay girls, it’s just a cat,” Louis tried explaining.

“But it’s a black cat, Louis. On Halloween,” Felicite whimpered. “It’s super bad luck.”

“Girls,” Louis held his hand out to the creature, “That’s just nonsense.”

Harry obviously loved his sister’s cat, Martha, quite a lot, but when it came to feral cats he generally stayed far away. Come to think of it, Harry realized, the feral cats usually stayed far away from him too. He’d never seen one approach a human. And this cat had started meowing.

“Hey there you, I’m not a cat person,” Louis cooed down at the animal, reaching out tentatively to touch its inky head. It pushed up into his hand and arched its back, yowling louder, its mouth opening to reveal sharp, white teeth. “Go bother Harry, ya?”

But the cat paid no mind to Harry, or to the little girls, who had crept closer and were now staring at it intently.

“I think it likes you, Lou,” Harry observed as the feline rubbed itself against Louis’ leg.

“Nah, probably he’s just hungry. You forgot what a convincing rabbit I make.”

Harry snorted. “Suuuure. He’s just wooing his food before he eats it, very cat-like.”

“You’ve never been a cat, Harry, maybe some like a bit of adventure!” Louis looked indignant as he bent further and pet the black cat with both hands. It rolled over and presented Louis with its stomach.

“That’s what Chance does,” Daisy commented as Louis rubbed its belly.

“True, I’ve never seen a cat act like this. But maybe,” Louis got a glint in his eye and he spoke softer, motioning the girls to lean in. Trick-or-treaters were passing in groups on the sidewalk, chattering, rendering Louis nearly inaudible.

“Maybe it’s not a cat at all. Maybe it just transforms into a cat on Halloween night to lure little children to its home and munch on them.”

Lottie’s eyes grew big as the twins started whining and clutched at her. “That’s scary, Louis, you’re not supposed to tell scary stories like that.”

“Well you girls weren’t supposed to get out of the car, but…” Louis shrugged his shoulders as he kept stroking the feline. “Who knows what lurks outside on an evil night like this.”

Four sets of feet bee-lined for the backseat. Harry nearly peed himself trying to keep from laughing.

“You’re brilliant, Lou,” he finally managed, clutching his stomach. The ache had flared again, and he knew what came next, and he didn’t want Louis to go.

“Apparently this cat thinks so.” Louis stood from the creature and brushed his hands off on his sweats. “’Night little guy, don’t go scaring too many people,” Louis admonished.

Harry walked him to the car. “Thanks for driving and all, Lou,” he said a bit mournfully.

“No problem, Haz. Thanks for helping me control the little monsters.”

“Ya, ‘course.” Harry chewed his cheek. “Um. Bye,” Harry smiled, the ache making him nearly dizzy.

Louis abruptly pulled him close and hugged him, his arms tight around Harry, his feet firmly planted on the ground, caving Harry’s torso down so he lifted off his heels. As Louis let go, releasing Harry to find a shaky balance, he whispered,

“May the force be with you, oh Jedi padawan.”

Harry said nothing as Louis winked, ducked into his seat, and started the car. He waved as he backed out and drove down the road, and Harry waved back, looking after the vehicle long after it had disappeared from view. Ghosts and superheroes and cowboys ambled past him, their tightly clutched baskets filled with candies, paying him no mind.

When he finally turned to head inside, he almost tripped over the black cat.

“Are you still here?” Harry asked it, a bit taken aback when the creature tilted its head, as if in answer.

“Well. Don’t eat any of Robin’s songbirds and you can stick around. Otherwise, watch out.”

As Harry walked to the door the cat slinked away into the neighbors' yard, and Harry didn’t give it another thought.


	6. The Old Man And The Church

The first week of November passed cold and blustery, kicking the final green trees into sudden leaf-death and making the already yellow ones shed like Martha after a bath. Anne had begged Gemma to come home for the weekend to hear Lakeside’s guest speaker, and Gemma surprised them all by actually complying. She insisted on sleeping until nine on Sunday morning, though, so they skipped the Sunday school hour altogether. For Anne, this was a small price to pay for Gemma’s involvement.

Harry now looked forward to spending an hour seated next to Louis in an uncomfortable metal folding chair, however, so absent that, when he spotted Louis near the coat room before second service, he hurried over. Lottie stood in front of Louis, her arms crossed, her face displeased.

“I don’t care what Madeline says, don’t you ever do it again, Lots, mom would absolutely skin you alive if she knew.”

“I only wanted to warm it up for everyone,” Lottie pouted, Daisy suddenly at her elbow to enjoy her dressing down. Though Louis didn’t verbally acknowledge Harry’s presence, his whole body shifted to include Harry in their little conversation bubble.

“You do not, I repeat, do NOT, get to even _touch_ the car keys until you’re fifteen. Understand?”

“You’re not dad,” Lottie narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’d better be grateful for that, too. Now hurry up and find our pew before I decide to tell on you.”

Lottie hesitated only a moment before doing as he said. Louis sighed at Harry, shaking his head. “Kids.”

“I bet you were the worst eleven year old ever, though.”

“Harold! I was a saint!” Louis clutched at his invisible pearls.

“You’re a bad liar, Lou,” Harry grinned, shaking his head fondly.

“Am not! You’d be surprised.” Louis raised his eyebrows and tilted his chin up just a bit so his nose stuck smugly in the air, completing the look by flicking his fringe from his eyes. Harry almost guffawed out loud before Louis clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Shhh, not here, people will think I’m funny!” Louis whispered, his eyes absolutely shining. Harry got lost in the blue of them for a moment, not seeing the elderly Mr. Merchant approach from the hallway.

“Harry!”  
Harry registered his name as the smell of old man and ironed suit assailed his senses. He whipped around, slightly confused, before finally responding.

“Hello, sir. How’re you?”

“I’m just fine, Harry. I wanted to remind you of the youth group meeting after church today. Your mother mentioned you may be interested. Perhaps you as well, young man,” Mr. Merchant motioned towards Louis.

“Meeting about what?” Louis asked, looking from Harry back to Mr. Merchant.

“President Stevens is giving a little recruitment talk about my alma matter, Bob Jones University. It’s rare we have him with us, and it’s a wonderful opportunity to ask any questions you may have. You’d do well at Bob Jones, Harry, plenty of pretty girls there that would snap you up. We’re meeting in Pastor David’s classroom, if you’d like to join us.”

He nodded and smiled at them, patting Harry on the shoulder before turning and hobbling away, his permanently bowed body leaning heavily on a cane.

“There’s motivation for you, Harold, tons of pretty girls,” Louis quipped.

Harry shivered and leaned in close to Louis, cupping a hand around his ear and whispering, “I feel like he left old man slime on my shoulder.”

Louis dusted Harry’s dress shirt dramatically. “It’s all off now, I’ve replaced it with girl repellant,” Louis laughed, but it sounded a smidge bitter to Harry, even though he knew Louis spoke in jest.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Lou. You’ll probably be stuck with me forever.”

Louis full on grinned at this, his usual spunk restored. “We’d better find our families, the music’s starting.”

Harry slid in next to Gemma just as the first hymn began. Anne shot him an, ‘it’s about time,’ look, but then turned back to her hymnal.

The Bob Jones University President Richard Stevens had a very different preaching style from Pastor Rob. His voice reverberated loud and brash, making it difficult for Harry to tune him out. About thirty minutes into his sermon he became even more animated, beginning to use his hands for emphasis.

“God’s plan is for the family. You know, I’ve traveled to a lot of places, folks, and I see it everywhere I go, in every church: young people, more interested in college and careers and friends, than in serving God.”

Harry felt Gemma tense beside him. Her shoulder had been sleepily touching his but now she sat strait as a rod. He chanced a look at her and saw her cheeks pinkening.

“There is a crisis in our church body. We’re losing our next generation, ladies and gentlemen. The days of getting married, settling down, and having a family are gone. Our children go off to secular schools and universities, and they absorb the ways of the world! Just a little more time for myself, they say. Just one more degree. Just one more promotion. One more, one more, one more, and before you know it, they’re thirty, maybe older.”

The auditorium hung silent. Harry heard Gemma take a shaky breath.

“Humanism. Self-serving ambition. God asks us to humble ourselves before Him and seek His face! He commands a young man to leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife! He planned that we learn and experience the love of our Heavenly Father by living out His example and loving our wives as Christ loves the church.”

Gemma’s fingers curled into fists around the hem of her dress. Harry felt his throat go dry.

“This secular higher education is something mandated by the world. But we are told to be IN the world, not OF it. It’s my personal opinion that pursuing a college degree should be done only at Christian campuses. Perhaps I’m a bit biased.”

The crown tittered as President Stevens smiled, motioning to the PowerPoint slide that still hung welcoming him as the Bob Jones’ figurehead.

“But putting my personal biases aside, ladies and gentlemen, and specifically young people; I ask you today to think about the choices you’re making in your life. Are you selflessly asking God to direct your path? Now, I know countless Godly young women in our school and in my home church who are ready to live out God’s plan, who are eager and ready to live in sacrificial service to our God and Savior. My wife has had the privilege of working with many of these young women and counseling them. And do you know the main problem they face in carrying out God’s plan for their lives? A lack of Godly young men.”

Gemma made a sound deep in her throat that sounded like a growl.

“The enemy is working overtime to rid the church of its young men. I see it every day. They are tempted by lucrative jobs, by pornography, by alcohol, by television, by violet video games, and even by the homosexual agenda. The propaganda machine in Hollywood that portrays sodomy and perversion as _normal_ has destroyed countless lives. I have counseled many of these young men myself, and it’s a tragedy beyond any I’ve ever seen. The evil that grips them is vice-like. The devil knows that without Godly young men as the cornerstone of the family and of the church, we are weak.”

Harry felt the hollow of his ache begin again, and instinctively he looked for Louis. His best friend sat completely still several pews over, which was odd, as Louis fidgeted most all the time.

“God’s plan for the family is under attack. Divorce, abuse, disrespect in marriage, infidelity, and living in sin are all perversions of God’s plan. Perhaps the most difficult perversion of all is that of homosexuality. The years may be limited where I can stand up here and preach God’s truth about this. You and I both know, folks, the war that is being waged against speaking God’s truth here in this country. To take what God created as a reflection of his perfection and turn—“

Harry hadn’t noticed Gemma take his hand. She stood up suddenly and yanked him with her. Bodily, she shoved him out of the pew and, still holding his hand, pulled him along the aisle.

Harry could feel eyes on them, could hear the sermon droning on in the background as they reached the sanctuary doors and excited.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked as soon as the doors had closed behind them.

“That fucking _monster_ ,” Gemma said, her voice low but punctuated with a veracity Harry had rarely heard.

“President Stevens?”

“He’s a bigoted ass like I’ve never _seen_. Why the hell did mom and dad start coming here?” Gemma complained more to herself than to Harry.

“Gems, you’re like, bright red,” Harry said, reaching out to take his sister’s shoulder lightly.

“Because I’m fucking furious, Harry.” She shrugged his touch away, then immediately her face softened and she clasped his rejected hand in her own.

“Sorry. I’m just… Look, all of that was a load of absolute bullshit, you know that, right?”

Harry just looked at her, his eyes wide.

“Um.” He didn’t know what to say.

“Do you really think I should be going to Bob fucking Jones’ University and getting married and churning out babies? Well do you?”

Harry chewed his lip. No, obviously. But…

“Do you think gay people are a perversion?” Gemma shook her head and looked up to the ceiling.

“It’s…” Harry’s voice sounded quiet, even to him, “It’s not like that’s just President Stevens, Gemma. God says that.”

“Fuck God, then.”

Harry pulled his hand away and fixed Gemma with a glare. “Mom’s told you before not to say stuff like that.”

Harry felt himself tearing up, the result, he assumed, of confronting his sister. He hardly ever fought with her.

“Fucking hell.” Gemma rubbed at her eyes and sighed. “You’re so young, Harry, and I get it, I really do, I believed it too, but it’s all lies. This whole—religion—thing, it’s all—“

“Can’t you just stop?” Harry’s threatening tears finally spilled over. He crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest and wished away the ache that still sat lodged there. He wished away the headache that Gemma’s line of questioning brought. He wished away the nagging feeling of sick in the pit of his stomach.

Gemma didn’t say more, just scooped him into a hug and held him. Harry could hear singing start from beyond the doors; service had ended.

“I’m sorry baby brother, I didn’t mean to poke at you.”

“S’okay,” Harry mumbled against her shoulder.

“I just want you to know that there’s a whole world out there that thinks this is all crap. I have lots of gay friends and they’re not perversions. Just, remember that, okay?”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably before Gemma released him. “Okay.”

Harry wiped his eyes and stood awkwardly against the coatroom wall as people filed out of the auditorium doors. Gemma left, saying she’d be waiting for their parents at the car. Harry desperately wanted the questions to stop tumbling around in his head; he wanted the only balm he knew for the ache in his chest.

Louis walked out holding both Fizzy and Lottie’s Bibles. He spotted Harry immediately and came over, his smile bright but his eyes less so.

“Where’d you run off to?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Gemma pulled me out. She hated the sermon.”

Louis blinked several times. “Well. There was a lot to dislike. I mean both our mom’s are divorced, and our families are pretty great. The President’s just an old windbag.”

“I think the college thing is what got her upset.” Harry could have ended with that, but he didn’t. “And the other thing.”

Louis wrinkled his nose and fixed his fringe.

“What’d she say?”

“That she has lots of gay friends and stuff and they’re not perverse.”

Louis nodded in response, his lips pursed tightly. Harry yearned to feel Louis’ comforting arms around him, but he dared not ask for a hug there, in the foyer. As he stood aching for what he couldn’t have, Anne and Robin spotted him and hurried over.

“Where’s your sister?” Anne asked, her voice edgy.

“She’s waiting by the car,” Harry answered dutifully. Louis tried to smile at Anne, but she had a one-track mind.

“We’re leaving immediately. She has some explaining to do.”

Anne and Robin walked towards the door, deep in whispered conversation. Harry wished he didn’t have to follow. There would be hours of screaming, probably, and some very awful things said, and invariably he’d be brought into it as if he were a small child easily influenced by anything. Then Gemma would storm out of the house and vow to never come back. She might stay gone several months; once it had been three. Harry missed her terribly when this happened, and—

“Hazza?” Louis touched his arm lightly. “Your mom’s waving at you, Haz.”

“Oh.” Harry looked up from where he had rooted in place.

“See you after school?” Louis asked, his voice gentle, reassuring.

“Ya.” Harry smiled at him, hoping so much that Louis would touch him, anywhere, one last time. To his great surprise and pleasure, his hopes were fulfilled.

Louis poked his dimple. “Cheer up, you’ve still got me.”

Harry nodded and smiled a sad goodbye as he made his way towards a waiting Anne and a brewing storm.


	7. The Last Embers Of Fall

November meant leap pick-ups. Every couple of days tarps would be dragged down driveways and overturned onto islands, their mushy, wet, crinkly, or wind-blown contents either sitting clumped like mounds of sewage or blowing into the street, depending on the weather. Harry and Robin had gotten their leaves out the previous week, but the Tomlinson maple tree hung on stubbornly, refusing to shed its golden foliage until a very hard frost sent them fluttering to the earth all at once, in the span of one day leaving Louis’ backyard ankle-deep in leaves.

Harry had offered valiantly to help Louis rake, as Mark and Jay both had to work. They were in the thick of it now, sweaty and half exhausted, their arms hurting already, though they were barely half done. 

“Move your butt Chance, come on!” Louis swatted in the dog’s direction with his rake. Chance had indeed sat directly in the line of fire and he looked none too bothered by Louis’ shooing.

“I’ll get him,” Harry offered, dropping his own rake to grab Chance’s ball and throw it across the yard. The dog took off after it, but then immediately brought it back to Louis, dropping the toy and again sitting smack in Louis’ way.

“He’s hopeless. Fizzy! Come take Chance in the clubhouse with you ‘til we get this done!” Louis called, shaking his head but still bending to kiss Chance’s velvety black nose and ruffle his ears. The dog licked Louis’ chin, causing him to smile so big that Harry wondered if perhaps Louis had dimples after all.

“He always knocks everything off with his tail, Louis,” Felicite whined, coming and taking Chance by the collar.

“Either that or you put him inside. But you’ll have to stay in with him, mom’s not home yet.”

“Fine.” She led Chance away as Louis resumed his raking, now unencumbered.

“Do you ever jump in them?” Harry asked, pulling his own little pile across the grass to join Louis’ larger one.

“Obviously. What kind of a question is that, Harold?”

“Just, you know. Gemma kind of outgrew it.”

“Well lucky for you, I’m the most immature person I know.” Louis grinned at Harry cheekily, quirking his eyebrows.

“It’s pretty lame trying to jump in a pile alone, to be honest. I gave up a few years ago.” Harry admitted.

“Never fear, this is guaranteed to be the biggest pile in the whole city. I mean look at this massive tree, would you? It dropped more leaves than the entire block combined. And here I am, once again raking the whole yard by myself, those little gremlins over there never even offering to help.” Louis motioned towards where his sisters were playing some rousing game or other, oblivious to their efforts.

Harry didn’t see any resentment on his face even though his words suggested a bitterness towards dropped foliage. In fact, Louis’ fond slipped out as he watched his sisters and his lips curled into a badly hidden smile.

“By yourself, huh? What am I, chopped liver?” Harry teased. “Maybe I’ll go join the girls, then, I don’t want to ruin your tradition.”

Louis’ mouth fell open and he squinted at Harry menacingly. “Traitor.”

Harry dimpled at his outrageous and entirely contrived attempt at indignation. He giggled just a bit too.

“That’s it,” Louis dropped his rake and in one fluid motion tackled Harry into the pile, the crunch of the leaves sounding in simultaneous time with Harry’s squeal. This, of course, beaconed Chance from whatever meager constraints the girls had kept him in and he barreled across the lawn and launched into the leaves as well, and soon both Louis and Chance were burying him, tickling him, stuffing leaves in his sweatshirt, and licking him (this was only Chance, Harry assumed).

“Heeeelp!” Harry called out between fits of laugher, and the next moment all four little girls were joining the fray, thankfully taking Harry’s side. Their combined efforts resulted in Louis soon being pinned down in the pile, a twin sitting on each leg as Lottie and Fizzy held his arms and Harry sat squarely atop his stomach, securing his shoulders. Chance barked, annoyed they’d left him out.

“This is mutiny, I tell you! Unfairness in the extreme! I am turning each and every one of you in as turncoats,” Louis protested, squirming under them, but ultimately not trying too hard. Clearly his imprisonment and torture ranked as a favorite pastime of the Tomlinson sisters.

“Stuff his socks!” Daisy screamed gleefully, taking a handful of leaves and shoving them between Louis’ jeans and the cuffs of his shoes.

“And his pockets!” Phoebe chimed in, all of the girls squealing delightedly at Louis’ halfhearted attempts to stop them.

“I’ll catch my death of insects! These leaves are full of terrible diseases, stuff that eats you alive from the inside!” His pleas fell on deaf ears, but Harry enjoyed them immensely. He didn’t participate in the stuffing, just sat, admiring the chaos of the scene beneath him.

“If I catch a tree fungus and turn bright green and start sprouting twigs, I’m blaming all of you! Please, have mercy, I’m just your poor brother, let me live!”

“Stuff his hoodie!” Phoebe shouted, her smile shining almost brighter than the afternoon sun.

“Noooooo my hair!”

Harry shook his head as Louis writhed under him, his attempts at misery only betrayed by the small laugh tucked in the corners of his mouth. For all the chaos, Harry felt very warm inside as he watched Louis feign captured defeat. The antics of a large family had always seemed so mysterious to him, but he understood a little better now. The Tomlinson girls practically worshiped their older brother; they considered him their hero.

Eventually, several minutes of leaf stuffing later, the girls tired of the game and scurried off to do something else, leaving Louis looking like a half formed scarecrow. Harry realized he should also let Louis up and made to roll off him.

Before he could, however, Louis grabbed his hips, his leaf-stuffed sleeves crinkling against Harry’s sweatshirt, and whispered with wide eyes, “Harry, quick, I’ve got to tell you a secret.”

Taken aback, Harry leaned down without a moment’s hesitation, putting his ear to Louis’ lips. He could feel the warm breath from Louis’ nostrils tickling his cheek and could smell his best friend’s rather distinctive scent mixed with the earthy decay of plants.

The next instant handfuls of leaves scraped and scratched against his neck, beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt. Louis laughed maniacally as he shoved dead treetops mercilessly down Harry’s front.

“You’re too easy to fool, Hazza,” Louis giggled, successfully wiggling out from beneath him and standing up. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, half wishing it weren’t so true. They both resembled scarecrows now.

Louis held his hand out and Harry took it, allowing Louis to pull him up from the pile.

“M’gonna have to be careful with you, Haz, you’re such a softie.”

Louis said the words in a rush and only when they’d left his lips did he seem to think them through; he stood a bit too stiff and seemed unable to continue. Harry felt himself blush, although being called a softie by his best friend shouldn’t have elicited that type of reaction. He should have replied with a protest, or a mock offended scowl, or a punch to the arm, or something bro-y. Anything but the blush that seemed to, perhaps, confirm Louis’ very statement.

Harry bit his lip, chewing a little, until it hurt.

“Not that that’s bad, or anything,” Louis finally continued. “I just meant that you’re kind of gullible.” Louis wrinkled his brow at that descriptor too. “M’just making it worse, sorry,” Louis apologized, reaching out and tugging a few leaves from Harry’s sweatshirt collar.

“S’okay, Lou,” Harry smiled at him, “I don’t mind being soft with you.”

It was an odd turn of phrase, one that Harry hadn’t really considered past the confessional. Louis’ blue eyes flicked up to his, shocked looking, as if Harry had smacked him across the face.

“You don’t?” Louis echoed, and Harry saw a hint of color spring to his cheeks.

“Ya, you just can’t tell anyone, okay?” Harry felt sticky and flustered and the leaves itched where they touched his skin. He searched around in the pile until he found his rake and stood with it held like a guardian against further self-embarrassment.

“Promise,” Louis said, likewise suddenly very occupied fishing his rake from the leaves.

Harry glanced up and caught Louis looking quite serious between his smiles. The sun had dipped behind the row of neighborhood houses and the long shadows cast across the lawn stretched ever closer to Louis’ toes, like an impending darkness snaking up to devour him. He did look every bit the heroic figure, standing there with his rake in the last gleam of sunlight.

Harry tore his eyes away and made himself focus on the matted carpet of maple leaves. They were mostly yellow, but some had bits of red around the edge, as if maybe they had born witness to the boys’ conversation and were likewise blushing.


	8. It's Beginning To Feel A Lot...

Thanksgiving had left Harry full and sleepy, a whole quarter of a turkey nesting snugly in his tummy as he slept. Anne’s feast always outdid itself, and this year had been no exception. It had been just the four of them, though Louis called in the evening to wish Harry a pleasant ‘gobble gobble.’

Immensely relieved that Gemma had come home at all, Harry had purposely disrupted any talk of religion or politics the entire day, only going lax on his duties when they all settled in to watch the Charlie Brown special on ABC. Gemma had made one comment about how the real colonists sent smallpox laced handkerchiefs to the Native Americans and wiped whole tribes out, but Harry’d elbowed her sharply. He wanted his sister to stay. 

Harry enjoyed Thanksgiving, but nothing compared to the excitement of the day after. Anne had always hated crowds, so Black Friday wasn’t a tradition; instead, they decorated for Christmas.

They would fill the house with the sultry voices of Elvis and Johnny Mathis whilst tinseling and twinkle-lighting every archway and window frame, trimming a large tree, setting up the manger scene, and somehow finding time to hang stockings and place snowmen decorations. Sometimes they even made cookies.

When Harry had been little, he and Gemma would dress up as elves, decked out in festive outfits—sometimes with elf or Santa hats or reindeer antlers—and pretend to be Santa’s little helpers. Though they’d not been raised believing in Santa Claus (as Santa backwards spelled Satan and materialism took away the true meaning of Christ in Christmas), Robin eventually softened to their tradition, admitting that it seemed harmless.

This year, Harry had invited Louis to come over and help decorate and his best friend’s anticipated presence made the magic of the day that much more enticing. At barely the crack of dawn, Harry crept out of his bed and checked the weather; frost had snaked along his window, and beyond its little crystals Harry saw the day looked cloudy and cold. That’s exactly how he liked it.

He threw on his fuzziest bathrobe and tiptoed to Gemma’s room, finding her, not surprisingly, still fast asleep. Grinning with profound mischief, Harry climbed in bed beside her and stuck just his feet under the blankets.

Gemma rewarded him with a shriek.

“Harry Edward Styles!” Gemma yelled, kicking him hard and shoving him, bodily, off the bed. She had surprising strength for a half awake person.

“Riiiiiise and shine Gems!” Harry sang, popping back up from the floor and bouncing on her mattress until she smacked a pillow in his face.

“You MONSTER!”

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas…” Harry started singing at her, miming a mic with his fist.

“Shut UP Harry it’s six thirty!”

“But Gemma, Santa’s elves start _early_ , we’ll probably be tardy as it—“

“That’s it, you menace.”

Gemma pounced on him, her loose hair tangling around her face as she pinned Harry to the bed and tickled mercilessly. He screeched.

“No, lemme up! I’ll let you sleep, I promise!”

“Too late for that now, Hairball, you’ve sealed your fate!”

Their yowling must have been very loud indeed because Anne hurried up from downstairs, where, as early risers, she and Robin were already drinking their morning coffee.

“Gemma? What on earth—“

“No, don’t stop me mom, the little pest deserves it this time.” Gemma laid into Harry’s tender sides, right under his armpits.

“Mooooooooom,” Harry screamed, laughing until tears streamed down his face.

“Try to keep it down, the whole neighborhood doesn’t need to think we torture our children,” Anne said, a tone of amusement in her voice.

“Noooooo don’t leave me mommy! MOMMY!” Harry screamed as Gemma dug her fingers into his soft belly.

“Have you had enough?” Gemma asked, herself breathless with the effort of keeping Harry down. “What’s that baby brother? What’s the magic word?”

“Ahhhhhhhh,” Harry moaned, still trying to fight her off, his legs flailing uselessly.

“I keep going ‘til you say it, Harry,” Gemma twisted one of his nipples and Harry barked.

“Uncle! Uncle!” He finally yelled, his sides aching.

“And that,” Gemma twisted another nipple, somehow remembering exactly where they were under Harry’s very fluffy robe, “Is for rudely sticking your ice-cold giant bigfoot feet under MY covers, Harry Styles.”

Harry wiped away his tears and pouted at her. “Just wanted you up for the big day,” he protested.

“Like hell you did, you massive pain in the ass. Here. Scat. If you want me up I’m putting on real clothes first, it’s cold.” Gemma thwacked him with a pillow again as Harry scrambled up off her bed and out the door.

Anne made pancakes, eggs, and bacon for breakfast, and though they’d all been stuffed just the night before, everyone still ate heartily. By eight o’clock Harry had already brushed his teeth, changed into an obnoxious Christmassy sweater, pulled on a pair of candy-cane socks, and dragged out all the fall floral arrangements to their respective boxes in the garage. He’d just finished filling the living room with containers of Christmas décor when Anne announced her and Robin’s departure.

Robin had convinced Anne to brave the crowds for a particularly good sale on tennis shoes. As they left, Gemma plopped herself down on the couch. Harry continued to scurry around, checking the door constantly.

“You’re sure a girl’s not coming over, Harry? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“What?” Harry felt heat rising to his face. “It’s just Louis,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Gemma arched one eyebrow. “I can’t wait to meet him,” she grinned evilly, her face smug.

“No—no Gemma PLEASE, please don’t do it,” Harry skidded to his knees in front of the couch and tried to snatch her phone.

“It’s a free country, I can say what I want,” she teased, easily holding her phone away from him.

“Just once when you meet my friends can you not tell embarrassing stories, just _one time_.”

“Oh, you ruined your chances of that this morning, Harry. Perhaps if you’d woken me up with breakfast in bed—”

The doorbell interrupted her and Harry lurched up, but not before Gemma shoved him back to the floor and scampered to answer it herself. 

“Lou!” Harry yelped out as he tried to stagger over, but Gemma had already pulled Louis inside, closing the frosty air out behind him.

“Hello, Louis, I’m Gemma, Harry’s sister.” She shook his hand exaggeratedly and launched right in as Harry face-palmed his forehead.

“I would like to inform you that my brother dressed up like a Keebler elf throughout his childhood on this day, up until this year, and I have an album full of pictures to prove it.” She nodded as if to emphasize her point.

Louis grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Can I see?”

“Of course! Follow me, Louis, Harry’s best friend.”

Gemma beckoned him along, Harry’s plaintive protests unheard and useless in the background.

“Now these,” Gemma said, plopping herself down in front of the bookshelf and pulling out a red-covered photo album, “Are from when Harry was a small pain in my ass. Observe the blonde hair and chubby belly.”

Harry groaned and flopped down flat on his back, his hands over his eyes.

“He’s awfully adorable,” Louis observed, sitting right next to Gemma and eagerly listening to her montage of embarrassment.

“And here, you see Harry wearing mom’s red slip, and he’s stuffed the boobs with socks because he wanted to be Mrs. Claus. And here, we observe a seven year old Harry Styles wearing a pair of elf pajamas from Wal-mart, compete with elf ears on the hat. And here,”

Harry could take no more. “Gemma, I promise breakfast in bed all Christmas break?”

“No can do, little brother. As I was saying…”

It went on and on to no end, but the annoying thing for Harry, and amusing part for Gemma, was that Louis never tired of the game, instead cooing over each embarrassing picture of Harry, giggling like a punch-drunk sailor as Gemma pontificated about her brother’s rampant dress up adventures. When they came to the previous year’s photos, Harry turned crimson with shame.

“And this, this is from last year. Observe, Louis, the antler headband my dear little brother is sporting, along with the bright green leggings and red turtle neck and two fireplace stockings he’s wearing as slippers.”

Louis giggled, the back of his hand daintily covering his mouth. “Harry, you look stunning.”

Harry moaned, miserable.

“But why aren’t you dressed up this year?” Louis asked, turning his attention to his best friend.

“Lou,” Harry cringed, trying to hide himself in the rug.

“I’m serious, I want in on the fun too. Can we both dress up as elves? We can’t let such a splendid family tradition die.”

Gemma sat back and looked at Louis long and hard. “You want to dress up WITH Harry?”

“Why not? Seems like fun,” he shrugged, standing and offering a hand to Gemma, which she took.

“Well, I give up, Harry, seems I’ve finally met my match.” Gemma pinched Louis’ cheek. “You pass, you can be Harry’s best friend.”

“Phew. I’ve been sweating about your approval for months,” Louis grinned, his sharp white teeth brilliant in the morning light.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Don’t set the house on fire, Hairball.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Gemma as she flounced upstairs, blowing him a sarcastic kiss.

“Your sister’s great,” Louis chimed, poking Harry’s arm.

“Meh.” Harry slouched towards the living room. “She’s too good at retribution. You’d think I’d learn my lesson one of these days.”

“Sometimes I wished for a big sister when I was little. But I had my mom, and she pretty much is my best friend, so.” Louis shrugged, his smile wistful.

“You don’t—really—want to dress up, do you?” Harry asked, chewing on the inside skin of his finger.

“Only if you have two pairs of green leggings.”

“I don’t even have one pair. I stole those from my mom’s box of 80s clothes.”

“Then let’s get to decorating, Harold. That tree won’t trim itself.”

To say Harry had a brilliant day would have been a massive understatement. Harry loved every millisecond of their decorating extravaganza. Johnny Mathis’ Christmas album played loudly while they pinned and taped multi-colored lights around all the windows and doorframes. They artfully arranged snowmen on the side tables and piano, taking care to also put the vases of fake poinsettias on display so their gold edging caught the light.

Louis helped him set up the old plastic manger scene that had been passed down in Anne’s family for several generations. He liked the little donkey best, marveling at the craftsmanship of the whole set, old as it was.

Finally they came to the tree. There were at least three bins full of lights, tinsel, and ornaments, and Louis admitted he’d have thought it overkill if not for the size of the tree Robin had hauled in the day before Thanksgiving. The Frazier Fir had fallen out beautifully, taking up a good quarter of the living room with its minty-smelling branches. Harry grabbed a pack of lights and began twining them along the limbs as Louis held the bundle, walking a half step behind him until Harry had to climb up the stepladder.

He could barely reach the tiptop of the tree, yet somehow he managed to hoist the star, secure it to the topmost branch, and plug it into the lights. Louis let out a whistle.

“That’s one pretty tree, Hazza,” he grinned up at Harry, holding tightly to his calves in case he started to topple on the ladder. “And it’s still fairly naked!”

“Mom always wants to do white lights, and dad likes blue, but it just doesn’t seem like Christmas unless they’re rainbows.”

Louis stared up at him a moment, his expression blank, then he swallowed and nodded. “Know what you mean. Here, don’t fall.”

Louis helped him down, then scooped up a pile of silver tinsel and flung it around his neck like a boa.

“Harold, darling, bring me my afternoon tea,” he said in a horrible British accent as he strutted about the living room, hopping up on the couch and twirling half the tinsel in loops behind him as the rest trailed down the cushions. Little strips of silver glittered as they shed from the tinsel, fluttering down to the carpet before Harry’s eyes like snowflakes catching sunlight.

Harry tried to contain his dimples, but to no use. He couldn’t help the sincerity with which he played along to Louis’ game. “The sparkles really bring our your eyes,” he said, his attempt at an accent likewise terrible.

“Do you think? It’s always such a struggle to find anything the right shade of silver.” Louis hopped down and walked towards him like a catwalk model, then dipped back into the bin, resurfacing with a candy cane hung over each ear.

Harry lost all composure then, snorting loudly and laughing not unlike a hyena until his belly hurt and he had to clutch around his middle. Louis dramatically stayed posed as Harry gained control of himself. When only soft giggles remained, Harry carefully started unwinding the tinsel from Louis’ limbs.

“I think it suits me better, personally,” Louis stated as they transferred the silver strands from him to the tree.

“Unless you wanna stand in my living room twenty-four seven, I think it’s for the best.”

The glass ball ornaments came next, followed by candy canes, icicles, and miscellaneous sentimental decorations that Anne had wrapped up in individual tissue papers.

To Harry’s surprise, Louis became surprisingly picky about decorating the tree, a previously hidden perfectionist side of him taking over. There had to be equidistance between icicles, and the candy canes needed to all be crooked in the same direction. Louis felt his height severely hindered him from accomplishing this precision fully, so Harry let him use the ladder.

Harry stepped back to admire their handiwork as Louis hung the final ornament, a ribbon angel. The tree looked magnificent, and the whole house hummed with Elvis’ Blue Christmas. They’d wrapped the banister in lights and holly leaves, and the air smelled like pine and packing boxes, and the lights between the tree limbs melted together in a pastel shimmer that glowed out softly, painting Louis in mottled rainbows.

Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing a prettier sight.

“Thanks, Lou,” he said, poking Louis’ shoulder.

“My pleasure, Harold. I can’t think of when I’ve had a better day.”

Harry beamed at this, and perhaps would have said something in response if Anne and Robin hadn’t walked through door at that moment.

“Boys! It’s beautiful!” Anne exclaimed, her face lighting up at the cheery interior.

“I think Louis’s better at it than me,” Harry complimented, grinning sideways at his best friend.

“You are welcome to decorate my home any time, Louis. Did you boys have lunch? You must be hungry working so hard.”

“No ma’am,” Louis said, his tone anticipatory.

“There are _plenty_ of leftovers. Harry, honey, get your starving guest some food.”

Now that Harry had remembered to be hungry, no one had to tell him twice. “C’mon,” he hurried towards the kitchen, disbelieving he’d nearly forgotten about the previous day’s turkey dinner.

“There’s potatoes and stuffing and green bean casserole and bread roles and… what’s this? Oh. Right. And sweet potato pie, and actual pumpkin pie, or, you can just have a turkey sandwich.”

Louis rubbed his stomach. “Maybe just a sandwich, Haz. I’ve gotta watch my girlish figure.”

Harry giggled and pulled out the appropriate Tupperware.

They baked peanut butter cookies later, peeling and inserting chocolate kisses into the hot, doughy little mounds as they cooled atop the stove. The sun finally set and Harry scampered around the house, turning off all the overhead lights until only Christmas lights separated them from the darkness. He pulled Louis into the living room and flopped with him onto the couch. The CD player had moved on to a generic Christmas carol album and had just begun to play _Away in the Manger_ as the boys cozied back into the cushions and stared up at the tree. His stomach full of cookies and his head full of ridiculous holiday cheer, Harry felt a warmness fill his chest. He let it wash over him, enjoying the tingling feeling along his backbone; but the warmness soon dissolved into the ache once more.

He glanced at Louis. The tree lights were reflecting in his eyes like pinprick stars. Harry inadvertently sunk closer to him, touching their arms.

“S’magical, isn’t it?” He whispered, afraid to break the spell.

“All we need now is snow and a horse-drawn sleigh and we’ll be a proper Currier and Ives painting.” Louis leaned into him as well, his breath coming in contented sighs. “I had so much fun today, Harry,” he whispered, his voice tight.

“Me too.” Harry touched his knee to Louis’.

“I think I’m gonna like Christmas-time this year.”

“Don’t you usually?” Harry asked.

“Ya, but…” Louis turned and looked at Harry with those tree-stars in his eyes, “It’s more special with you.” He bit his lip a moment and continued, “But then, everything is.”

Harry let those words wash over him, immerse him as if he’d slipped into a warm, sweet bubble bath. He scooted closer to Louis and finally, testingly, laid his head against Louis’ shoulder. Louis didn’t move away, so Harry stayed put.

Harry nearly drifted off as they sat together before the lulling light of the tree, Louis’ steady breathing beneath his ear. It was Gemma, emerging from her bedroom for only the fourth time that day, that startled him awake.

“Look at you two! Gosh you’re adorable,” Gemma squeaked, coming down the stairs to sit on the arm of the sofa and admire the tree.

Harry’s heart leapt up to his throat. “We’re tired is what we are,” he protested, lifting his head and putting some space between their shoulders and knees.

“Oh don’t move for me, Hairball, I won’t tell.”

Gemma blinked into the tree-lights, oblivious to how the boys had frozen at her words. Harry started getting pains in his chest from holding his breath and Louis had gone completely still, even his eyelashes unmoving.

“There’s nothing _to tell_ ,” Harry snapped, glaring daggers at Gemma and pushing up from the couch hurriedly, a frantic spinning wheel of darts piercing into his tummy. He needed water.

“Do you—do you have any hard finals coming up?” Harry heard Louis ask behind him, clearly trying to break the tension as Harry fumbled towards the kitchen. Gemma answered, but Harry stopped listening.

He almost dropped the glass of water three times before he successfully brought it to his lips and took a sip. Once the liquid had touched his tongue, though, he drained the glass. He wanted to wash away the horrid feeling that had settled in his gut. He’d just leaned against Louis’ shoulder. That wasn’t weird, that wasn’t bad. They were best friends. How dare Gemma imply they were doing something secret? They were just sitting, minding their own business, two friends on a couch looking at a Christmas tree.

Harry downed another glass of water and touched his cheeks. They were burning hot.

“Harry?” Gemma came into the kitchen, her face filled with worry.

Harry couldn’t smile. “Not everything’s ‘cute,’ Gemma,” he grouched at her, setting his glass down hard on the counter.

“I’m sorry?” Gemma raised both eyebrows at him and shrugged. “I didn’t say anything mean!”

Harry didn’t answer, just padded back to the living room, the ache twisting inside him a bit deeper, expanding itself with the addition of new hole that had been forming for some time: guilt. Harry sat back down, but at the opposite end of the couch.

“Um, Harry?” Louis said softly, “I think I’m gonna head home. S’been a long day.” Louis got up and made for the door, slipping on his shoes and tugging down his jacket from the coat rack.

Despite everything, Harry didn’t want him to leave.

“Really?” His tone betrayed him with just one word. Louis gave him a small smile.

“I promised mom I’d be home for dinner anyways. I’m on dish duty once again.”

Louis’ scarf had fallen from his jacket to the floor. Harry hurried to retrieve it, carefully looping it around Louis’ neck as he buttoned up.

“Thanks for coming, Lou.”

Louis stood still a moment, looking at Harry opaquely. He then opened his arms wide.

“Bye, Haz, see you Sunday?”

Harry hesitated only a second before falling into him; once he’d done so the ache soothed and the tension between them melted away. Louis smelled like peanut butter and chocolate.

“Ya, see you Sunday.” 

Louis squeezed him one more time before letting go and disappearing out into the cold night, beeping Jay’s car open and the lights on.

Harry closed the door and turned around to see Gemma watching him from the kitchen archway, one hand on her hip, the other fiddling with her necklace.

“What?” Harry asked, locking the deadbolt.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your friend. Well I did, but… I didn’t know he…” Gemma made a motion with her hand. “I’m sorry. I won’t tease you about Louis, I promise.”

“It’s fine. You can tease me. You tease me about all my friends. S’not any different.”

Harry tasted the lie as it slipped past his tongue, but he ignored it. Gemma did not.

“Oh?” She said, her face contorting into something like pity. Harry wanted to scream.

“He’s the nicest friend you’ve ever had,” Gemma continued, following Harry as he made his way to the kitchen, needing more water.

“Ya. Louis is great.” He would ice this conversation to a stop.

“Harry.” Gemma grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. Harry went with her, but remained rigid and unsmiling.

“Look at me, Lizzie Bennet, I’m sorry I teased you. I love you, and I always will. No matter what. You understand? Cold big-foot feet and all, you’re my Hairball and I’ll mamma bear anyone who dares to fuck you up, do you understand me?”

Gemma usually didn’t swear in the house. “Sure,” Harry replied stoically, but inside her sentiment had soothed the burn in his chest.

“You curly little novice,” Gemma cooed, pulling Harry tight against her in a firm hug. “I think Louis is wonderful. I hope you have him over lots more.”

Harry felt his eyes sting with tears, though he couldn’t think why.

“Thanks Gems.” He sighed, blinking furiously, the Christmas lights blurring in his vision.


	9. Gemma, Who Can't Clamp Her Tongue

The first two weeks of December passed in a flash. Harry seemed to have nothing but tests at school, and only Sheeland’s art class didn’t stress him out. Zayn had begun a panel series based on Lewis Carrol’s _Alice in Wonderland_ , and he’d been working on the talking flowers for days, much to Harry’s delight. As he watched Zayn draw, an idea crept into his head. He he mulled it over, let it grow there a while, and eventually decided to act on it, sheepishly interrupting Zayn one day as he colored in a pansy.

Gemma’s university went on break far before Harry’s high school, meaning by mid December she’d arrived home for a month. She stayed out of his hair when Louis came over, usually just popping by the dining room table to say hi as the boys crunched for finals. Harry had a thousand things he wanted to do with his December, but school seemed to purposely eat up most of his time, and any free time he did have, Louis had less of, being a senior and all.

Christmas fell on a Friday that year, so thankfully, the previous Friday was the boys’ last day of school. Harry wanted nothing more than to celebrate this liberation with his best friend, but unfortunately Great Uncle Richie and Aunt Mary had decided to descend on their household, determined to see Anne before the holidays, as they’d be gone to Palm Springs for the remainder of the winter.

They arrived around four thirty, and Harry had the misfortune of being near the front door. He received two tight hugs and two wet kisses from Aunt Mary, one on each dimple. Fortunately Anne rescued him before Uncle Richie could comment on his still noticeable lack of mustache.

“Honey, go get your sister, would you?” Anne asked, giving Harry a perfect excuse to extricate himself from Aunt Mary’s manicured fingernails.

Harry trotted up the stairs and down the hallway. “Gems?” He called, knocking lightly as he entered her room. Gemma lay on her bed, a pair of red headphones over her ears, a book cradled in her lap. She finally looked up as Harry waved his hands at her.

“Ya?”

“Mom wants you. Aunt Mary and Uncle Richie are here.”

“I’m aware. Hence I’m still in my room.”

“Gems,” Harry sighed, pleading with his eyes.

“I don’t know why I have to be present. I’ll just cause a scene and no one will be happy. Honestly, mom’s too much.” But Gemma uncurled herself and stood up anyway, following a grateful Harry down the stairs.

Uncle Richie and Aunt Mary were delightful people, so long as you agreed with them on politics and religion. Gemma, obviously, did not, and had made a point of accentuating that last Christmas. It had not gone over well.

“Gemma, there are you! How are your studies? Have you been doing well?”

Aunt Mary gave her a fierce hug and tugged her down to the couch. Gemma shot Harry a resigned look. “Yep, school is great, I’ve been getting all A’s, and everything is wonderful.”

Anne entered the living room with a plate of snack sandwiches and glasses of water. “Tell Aunt Mary about making the Dean’s list, Gemma. We’re all quite proud of her.”

Robin gave a ‘here here’ and Uncle Richie looked summarily impressed. Gemma rolled her eyes, but only Harry saw.

“I’m so glad you’re keeping your head on strait there, dear. You know, just yesterday I saw a report about the kind of partying that goes on in those schools. It’s shocking. Your mother has raised you well to keep your nose above it.”

Gemma grabbed for a glass of water and gulped down two sips.

For Gemma’s sake, Harry tried changing the subject. “School’s going well for me too, Aunt Mary. I really like my art class.”

“Thank the Lord, Harry. It’s such a change for you, but I’m glad you’ve adjusted well. You know, Anne, we were worried about your decision, but so far Harry is just his sweet, normal little self. Do you remember when Rosalind Harper sent her boys to public high school? It was an absolute nightmare. In two weeks those boys were letting their pants fall down to their knees and wearing all black, and then one got his ears pierced. It’s been a disaster ever since. Jeremy has cut off all contact with his family.”

“Good for him,” Gemma muttered darkly into the lip of her glass, quickly taking another sip before anyone could question her mumble.

“Are they big on evolution there, Harry?” Uncle Richie asked, leaning forward over his lap. Harry scooted a bit farther up in the armchair he’d commandeered.

“Um, I suppose so.”

“That’s how it starts, they get them young, get them away from their families, then remove God from schools. I hope you’ve been staying in the Word, Harry. Did you finish that devotional we gave you?” Uncle Richie continued.

Harry swallowed hard. No, he hadn’t finished it. He’d tried to read a bit every night but… he’d been so busy with Louis and school that lately he’d forgotten.

“I’m still working on it,” he said, feeling his cheeks go a bit pink. “It’s really good. I’ve enjoyed everything so far.”

“Do you read the Answer’s magazine, Harry?” Aunt Mary proffered, rummaging around in her purse.

“The what?” Harry asked, confused.

“The Institute for Creation Research puts it out. It’s invaluable for countering the evolutionary narrative. Here’s this month’s issue.” She handed Harry a glossy publication with a very pretty butterfly gracing the cover under the headline, “God’s wondrous design for insects.”

“You know,” Robin interjected, “I think Harry’s youth group is taking a trip down there for winter break in February. Pastor Hertz mentioned something about it last week.”

“Mary and I went this fall, it’s magnificent. The way they lay out the truth so plainly is just incredible.”

“Wait,” Gemma’s glass clinked down on the coffee table sharply. “You’re talking about the Creation Museum? Ken Ham’s Creation Museum? In Kentucky?”

“It’s such a strong testament to God’s design. They’ve had thousands of visitors already,” Aunt Mary beamed, reaching over and patting Harry’s knee. “You’ll enjoy going, Harry. You’ll love the dinosaurs.”

Gemma bounced up from the couch and hurried to the kitchen. Harry didn’t watch, hoping he’d draw less attention to her departure. The conversation meandered on, eventually coming to politics. Harry played with his water glass, running his fingers through the sweating liquid on the exterior, making wet little designs that glittered in the Christmas lights.

“At our prayer breakfast this week John Crasinsky said it’s looking more and more like it could happen, and he’s worked in politics for decades. We’ve fallen so much as a country,” Uncle Richie mused.

“It’ll happen to the liberal coastal states, sure, but not here.” Robin took a bite of his hors d’oeuvre, chewing around it as he continued. “Enough people still have their heads screwed on strait.”

Gemma came back, finally, carrying a plate of cheese and crackers, clearly her excuse for leaving to the kitchen. Anne looked surprised at the arrival of more food.

“But it won’t be a state’s rights issue, Robin, they’ll do it through the courts. They’ve been trying for years and years to pass it the same way they did abortion.” Uncle Richie shook his head, his sweater vest stretching as his lungs inflated.

“On our Ireland tour this summer there was this lesbian couple; incredibly awkward situation. The more female one seemed nice enough, but her partner acted so overbearing. She talked constantly about advocating for legalization, and if the female one even so much as talked to one of the other men on the tour, she’d come right over and kiss her! It was so gross. She seemed a very bitter person.” Aunt Marry shook her head and took another bite of her hors d’oeuvre, carefully closing her lips around the bread so as not to disturb her pasty pink lipstick.

“If they legalize homosexual marriage, it will be a dark day for our nation,” Uncle Richie stated, his words received by nods of approval from Anne and Robin.

“Why.”

Gemma’s single word had every head in the room turning towards her.

“Don’t start, Gemma,” Anne warned, her eyebrows already creasing.

Uncle Richie slapped both hands on his knees and took a large breath. “You know how the Lord judged Sodom and Gomorra. We’ll be much the same.”

“Then why hasn’t God sent fire and brimstone on Canada? Or Sweden?” Gemma protested, her nose flaring.

“This country was founded on the Word of God, Gemma, and we’re just like Israel, turning our backs on the Lord. There will be a price to pay,” Aunt Mary said.

“The only thing this country was founded on was colonialism and the backs of enslaved Africans. With an ample dose of genocide.”

The room hung in a stunned silence. Harry tried to make his breathing quieter, tried to dissolve into the back of his chair.

“Well,” Anne eventually said, “We’ll never change Gemma’s mind, she knows everything now, clearly. She’s going to a university, after all.”

“At least I don’t get all my information from Fox News,” Gemma spat, her lip quivering. The next moment she stood and hurried up the stairs; a few seconds later Harry heard a door slam.

“It’s so difficult,” Anne said, resting her head in her hands.

“I know, dear. It’s a hard age,” Aunt Mary soothed. “All you can do is trust you brought her up in the truth, and that she’ll return to it. The Lord never gives up on His children.”

Harry realized he’d been biting his lip as blood began seeping onto his tongue. He quietly slipped from the armchair and grabbed several empty glasses en route to the kitchen. Once he’d deposited them in the sink, he snuck up the stairs.

He didn’t knock, just opened Gemma’s door silently, making sure not to click the handle. He didn’t want the adults to hear.

“Gems?” He called into her room for the second time that night.

“Don’t come in, I might be catchy,” she snapped. Harry entered anyways, closing the door just as carefully behind him.

“I don’t know if I can do three more weeks, Harry. You might have to survive New Years’ alone.”

“That’s okay. Louis asked me over anyways.” Harry climbed up on the bed with her, purposefully stealing half the blanket she’d wrapped around herself. His antics had the desired effect, and Gemma smiled.

“You’re such a dweeb,” she teased, yanking back on the fleece and pinching Harry’s dimple.

Harry cuddled into her, resting his head on her shoulder. Gemma didn’t say anything at first, just put her arms around him and squeezed gently.

“I know it upsets you, Hairball. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.”

“It’s just… some things shouldn’t be let go. They have to know how hateful and wrong they are. It’s hard to hear them talk like that.”

Harry swallowed. “They think you’re brainwashed.”

“Ya, I’m aware.” Gemma squeezed him again. “But I’m telling the truth, Harry. You learn all this in school. It’s common knowledge. The people who say it’s lies, they have an agenda, and it’s easer for them to stay in power if people don’t know the facts.”

“What if they lied to you, though? Because the world hates God and stuff? Maybe they have an agenda too,” Harry mumbled, his heart beating far too quickly. He didn’t like to think of these things, it all became too confusing.

“Hairball,” Gemma tugged at his curls, “Science doesn’t lie to you. Neither does history. They’ve got math and old documents and pictures and evidence. Some people could spin stories, sure, but by and large education is based on facts.”

“Facts like evolution,” Harry supplied.

“Harry, starlight takes millions, sometimes billions of years to reach the earth. If God had created everything seven thousand years ago, our sky would be black. We wouldn’t even know the universe exists.”

Harry didn’t say anything. Gemma continued.

“Like being gay, for instance. It’s genetic, they’ve proven that. And gender is a construct, something social. Did you know plants have multiple different sexes? There’s not just two, even for humans, and some people are even born intersex. Chromosomes don’t determine anything. It’s just like… amazingly complex, and they reduce all this to immorality.” Gemma huffed under her breath.

“It’s genetic?” Harry asked, his voice softer than he’d intended.

“Ya, baby brother. Gay people are born that way. The devil doesn’t make them gay. Sexuality is a spectrum.”

“Oh.” Blood rushed to Harry’s cheeks again, so he cuddled in closer to Gemma, hiding. “I just wish you wouldn’t fight with them. I’m scared that someday you’ll never come home.”

Gemma peeled Harry off of her, tucking back the blanket from where he had tried to hide his face, and looked him square in the eyes.

“Harry,” She smiled, taking his burning cheeks between her hands and bending to kiss his forehead, holding on until Harry squirmed and giggled beneath her, “You’re home, bub. I’ll always come back for you, or I’ll bring you with me. I promise. Don’t you ever worry about that, ‘kay?”

He tried to hide his watery eyes by staring down at the bedspread and sniffing. “Okay.”


	10. A Silent Night, An Auld Lang Syne

On the morning of Christmas Eve it began to snow. Harry could hardly contain his glee. He called Louis first thing, before he’d even eaten breakfast.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Harry screamed into the phone as soon as Jay put Louis on the line.

“Thanks, Haz, I think I’ve gone deaf now,” Louis laughed.

“Did you see?”

“Did I see…”

“Outside!” Harry bounced in his socks.

“Yes. It’s very cloudy.”

“LOU.” 

“I noticed the wind has picked up a bit.”

“Louuuuuuu,” Harry moaned, watching out the kitchen window as flakes accumulated atop Robin’s bird feeders.

“Oh! You mean did I see the snow.”

Harry could hear his delighted smirk through phone line.

“Obviously,” Harry retorted.

“It could stop by noon, you know, or melt before tomorrow.”

“Nope, it’s gonna be a white Christmas this year, I’m positive.”

“I hope you’re right, Haz. Listen, I—what? No, it’s Harry. Okay, okay. Look, Haz, I’ve gotta go, the girls want to give me their present, I think.”

“Ya, of course. Um, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yep. See you tonight, Haz. Bye!”

“Bye.” Harry hung up the receiver, the ache sliding down to mingle with his morning hunger. He guessed maybe family birthdays were more entertaining with a larger family, but he still wished he could see Louis before the service that night.

The snow didn’t stop, and in fact accumulated several inches by five fifteen. Christmas Eve service started at six sharp.

“Harry, have you seen my red scarf?”

Gemma poked her head around Harry’s doorway, her long hair falling in a sideways curtain.

“Oh! Sorry, I borrowed it,” Harry said, springing up from his bed, where he’d been fiddling with Louis’ gift, to rummage in his closet.

“Gross. But it probably looks better on you than me.” Gemma glowered at her pale wrists.

“At least you match the snow,” Harry giggled, ducking quickly behind his dresser as Gemma hurled a pillow at him.

“And that right there is why I’ve taken your Christmas gift back you little gremlin,” Gemma teased, pulling the scarf from Harry’s grasp as he held it out to her. “You’d better hurry with whatever you’re doing, mom said she’s not marching to a pew if we’re even one minute late.”

Harry nodded at his sister. “I think you should wear your red lipstick to match,” he offered, unsolicited.

“With this dress? I don’t know. Might be too much for Christmas Eve. I’ve been very careful to slut it back after last year’s ‘above the knee’ incident.”

Harry shrugged. “I think you look pretty,” he said, grinning outrageously so that his eyes nearly disappeared in his chubby cheeks.

“You’re trouble, Harry Edward Styles, actual trouble, and I love you. Tell them to wait for me, I think I packed it with my hairdryer.”

Gemma scurried out his door.

Harry looked around on his bedspread, realizing with a panic that Louis’ gift had fallen somewhere. He crouched on the floor and lifted his bed skirt, finding the green bag quickly and hurrying to re-stuff its red tissue paper along the sides.

Gemma skittered to the car a minute and a half later, joining her waiting family. As they drove, Anne began to stress about finding parking, but Robin assured her that in the moderate snowstorm, many people would choose to stay in.

They arrived ten minutes before seven. The foyer carpet squelched as they walked across it, wet from countless trackings of snow thanks to the half-plowed lot. Greeters handed out bulletins embossed with a red poinsettia and the words, “He Is Born Today.” Harry took one, noting all the visitors; Christmas Eve service tended to attract people who stepped inside a church only once a year. Robin often waxed on about what a perfect opportunity this gave for witness, but Harry thought they’d just picked a lucky night to attend, as Lakeside really did look absolutely picturesque. The foyer and sanctuary sported six Christmas trees total, all of them decked out like a Macy’s display, and poinsettia plants lined the walls along with electric candles.

Harry followed his family into the sanctuary, nodding greetings at multiple acquaintances, slightly annoyed he hadn’t yet seen the one person he actually cared to find. With a sigh he slid in at the end of the pew. The church looked packed, despite the snow, and it reverberated with soft chatter and the low hum of the organ’s prelude, _O Come O Come Emmanuel_. Harry had just started trying to guess the number of icicles on the closest tree when he felt a touch on his shoulder.

“Scoot over, Haz,” Louis said, sidling into Harry’s space before he’d really had a chance to move.

“Harry!” Gemma yelped as Harry bumped into her in his hurry to make room.

“Sorry Gems,” Harry felt a blush creeping up his neck but Gemma was paying little mind to him, instead focused on Louis.

“I hear it’s your birthday today. That’s quite unfortunate.”

“I did used to be bitter about it, but if you’re going to be overshadowed by someone, you can’t get much better than God Himself.”

Gemma nearly snorted. “Happy birthday anyways,” she said sympathetically, reaching over to pat his knee before turning her attention to the bulletin.

“Um.” Harry turned to Louis quietly, “Why aren’t you with your family?”

“Because mom was on call so I’ve been on twins duty _all day_ and I requested this as my birthday present,” Louis smiled at him, his bright teeth flashing quickly.

“Right, your birthday. Uh, here,” Harry handed over the green bag he’d tucked in the pew next to him. 

“Hazza, You shouldn’t have.” He paused. “I’d have been crushed if you didn’t, though,” he amended, giggling so excitedly his shoulders bobbed. His fingers grazed Harry’s as he took the gift. Pastor Hertz made his way to the alter and greeted everyone, asking the congregation to stand and sing _Joy to the World_ as Louis tugged out the red tissue paper. 

“It’s really small, and not much,” Harry said into Louis’ ear as they stood.

Louis reached in and retrieved the little soccer ball key chain first. As it fell into his palm he lit up like one of the electric Christmas trees.

“I love it, Harold! Gosh it’s so cute,” Louis stared at the present fondly, as if Harry had given him a half carrot diamond.

“There’s more, standing on the side.”

Louis reached in again, this time emerging with a thick piece of 9x11 paper. Harry caught a glimpse of Zayn’s signature as Louis stared open mouthed at the artwork.

When Harry had finally worked up the courage to ask for a commission, Zayn had been more than happy to oblige him. Harry had insisted on paying, of course, but Zayn would only take $10. He’d asked Zayn to draw a rose, like he’d been doing for his Lewis Carroll project, but to add in a beautiful fairy emerging from the flower. Without a doubt, Harry knew Zayn’s magical depiction would satisfactorily capture Louis’ favorite scene from _The Velveteen Rabbit_. He knew Louis would love the unpredictable gift.

“That’s gorgeous,” Louis said softly, his finger tracing over the fairy’s long, curly hair. “That’s how I always imagined it. Wow.” Louis smiled in awe. “She kinda looks like you, actually,” he observed, carefully replacing his gift in its bag. “Thank you, Haz, it’s perfect.”

Harry warmed all over, even down to his still snow-damp toes. “M’glad you like it,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

“Almost forgot, I saved this for you. It’s a pretty lousy Christmas present, sorry.” Louis tugged out a wadded blue handkerchief from his back pocket.

“Um, thanks,” Harry smiled.

“Harold. Open it.”

“Oh!” Harry pulled apart the paisley fabric. Inside lay a Hershey’s kiss, it’s wrapper an unusual striped duel green.

“I thought it matched your eyes,” Louis said. Harry could barely hear his soft whisper over the fourth verse of _Joy to the World_.

“I’ll never want to eat it,” Harry confessed, admiring the tinny wrapping.

“Then don’t!” Louis closed the kiss back up in its hanky and took it from Harry’s hands, tucking it discretely into Harry’s front pants’ pocket and patting the lump once before turning his attention to the screen of lyrics that hung at the front of the sanctuary. Louis began singing out as if he’d been doing so the entire song.

Harry’s ache throbbed, but he tried to distract himself with the next few carols. When he moved his leg and the kiss pressed against his thigh, the pain in his chest hurt more than ever. Harry managed not to show any outward signs of his infliction, though. By _Angels We Have Heard on High_ , Harry and Louis were harmonizing so terribly and giggling so loudly that Anne shot them a look around Gemma’s shoulder. Louis smacked Harry’s arm and mimed such a dramatic apology that Anne shook her head in resignation, unable to keep from smiling.

“I take it back, you’re no trouble at all compared to him,” Gemma teased, leaning over to whisper in Harry’s ear.

Harry rolled his eyes and continued singing, following Louis’ lead. They made it through the remaining chorus stoically and sang the next carol, _What Child is This_ , before being seated for the sermon.

Christmas Eve services were always concise and perky, touching on the true meaning of Christmas and the miracle of salvation, hitting sentimental highlights, and ending with an invitation to know the joy of the season through Christ. Sandra and Mary Merchant did a special on piano and flute of _Mary did you Know_ , and the choir gave a rousing rendition of _Hark the Herald Angels Sing_. Finally, the lights started to dim, and Harry clasped his hands together in excitement.

“What is it?” Louis whispered.

“This is when they pass out the candles,” Harry answered, “For Silent Night.”

The tradition had become Harry’s favorite, and Christmas never felt complete without it. Hundreds of people would stand solemnly in the dark, holding little candles aloft, singing without instruments, their voices lofting up into the rafters like medieval monks, the very air around them humming with the strange vibration of vocal humanity. It seemed a thing of magic to Harry.

Louis’ eyes sparkled. “We get candles?”

An usher confirmed Harry’s prediction as he handed Louis a box full of thin tapers complete with paper holders to catch their wax. Louis looked like he’d been given the moon. He took one and passed the box to Harry, fussing with the crooked paper until it stood up strait.

The lights dimmed as Pastor Rob gave instructions and the piano ghosted _Silent Night_ softly in the background. At the sanctuary’s front Harry could see the flame being passed from neighbor to neighbor; when it got three rows back, the piano stopped and Pastor Rob started to sing into his mic, cueing the congregation to begin. They took a slow tempo, every word intoned long and solemnly, like a chant, like a spell. 

The flame passed from Robin to Anne to Gemma, and then to Harry, and he passed it to Louis, touching their candles together reverently, watching as the tiny flicker of light engulfed both wicks. Louis didn’t move for a moment, even after his candle had clearly caught. The man behind them finally tapped his shoulder.

To Harry’s surprise, Louis didn’t belt out like he’d done before. He sang softly, his eyes trained on the melting wax in his hand. Harry found himself singing quieter just to make sure he could hear; Louis sounded sweeter than Christmas bells. 

_“Silent night, holy night, Son of God, love’s true light, Radiant beams from thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus, Lord at thy birth, Jesus, Lord at thy birth_.”

As they sang the last line, Harry realized he’d been watching Louis, not the enchanted Christmas scene before him. The candle glow bathed Louis’ face in radiant beams, and he looked angelic standing there next to Harry, his cheekbones and eyelashes casting sharp shadows across his skin. Harry felt blasphemous for thinking it, but the thought came nonetheless. Louis’ eyes were still trained on his candle, but as Harry watched him, his nostrils flared and he bit his lip as two fat tears rolled down his face.

The carol ended and the sanctuary hung in flickering silence. Quickly, before the lights came back on, Louis swiped at his eyes. Harry pretended not to see.

*

Without school to get in their way, the boys saw each other nearly all day every day. More than half the time this meant playing with Louis’ sisters, but Harry didn’t mind. He’d come to think of the Tomlinsons as family. Gemma, true to her threat, had left two days after Christmas, so Harry doubly appreciated being around Louis and having a second home.

Like all breaks, it passed too quickly, and before Harry knew it New Years’ Eve rolled around the following Thursday night. Usually he and Gemma watched a movie with their parents or played board games whilst snacking, but seeing as she’d left, Anne had no issue with Harry’s plans to spend the night with Louis.

Lottie had run up to him on Tuesday with both hands behind her back, demanding he choose left or right. Right, it turned out, held _Return of the King_ , and Harry had unwittingly settled a long-going dispute between Lottie and Felicite over their New Year’s Eve movie. It being one of his favorites, Harry had no complaints. The twins didn’t share this sentiment.

“Mommy mommy,” Phoebe nearly skidded around the corner, “Lottie says we have to go downstairs and watch Marry Poppins!”

“That’s right,” Jay affirmed as she plated the shrimp she’d just defrosted in hot water. Harry had been sitting with her in the kitchen shelling pistachios. His fingertips hurt a bit from it now.

“But I don’t want to!”

Harry popped a couple of the green nuts in his mouth, watching Phoebe’s eyes fill up with tears.

“Why can’t we watch the grown up movie!”

“Because you’re not grown up yet, and it’s too scary for you. When you’re older you can watch the grown up movie. It was Lottie and Fizzy’s turn to pick the movie this year, you had your turn last year, dear.”

“LOTTIE!” Phoebe tore off into the living room, a murderous expression on her face.

“We don’t have to watch Return of the King, Mrs. Tomlinson. It’s actually kind of my fault,” Harry mumbled half-heartedly.

“Oh no darling, don’t worry. The twins will be fine.” Jay winked at him and carried the plated shrimp and sauce bowl into the other room. Harry followed with the pistachios and an empty plate for snacks.

Jay and Mark took the love seat while Fizzy and Lottie spread out on the couch, a bowl of cheese puffs and Christmas cookies between them. Louis had pulled the giant beanbag out and plopped down in its center.

“C’om, Harold, best seat in the house,” Louis proclaimed, patting in a dent right next to his hip.

“Will we both fit?” Harry asked, his throat suddenly tight. Mark had turned the lights out, but he still felt very exposed.

“C’ourse we will. Here.” Louis moved over incrementally.

Harry sat, and Louis immediately threw a blanket over the both of them, grabbed the DVD remote, and pressed play.

As the opening credits slide by and a young Gollum appeared on the screen, Harry heard the patter of little feat behind them. Sighing, Mark got up to escort the twins back to _Marry Poppins_.

Harry had to refill his snack plate several times because Louis ate off it as well, refusing to get his own. Fizzie and Lottie hadn’t seen the movie yet, so predictably, Louis teased them at every surprise turn. In glorious form, he even mimed Arwen’s declaration of love, batting his eyelashes and pining ridiculously, prompting the girls to shower them both with hurled couch pillows.

Jay and Mark were up and down, and at some point before Shelob’s lair, Jay brought them all homemade eggnog. Harry only noted the timing of this because when Shelob first appeared Louis jump scared his sisters and spilled his glass all over Harry’s lap. He apologized profusely, but also immediately tried to help mop it up with his napkin, not considering this involved blotting along Harry’s crotch. Slightly mortified, Harry excused himself to find another pair of sweatpants in Louis’ room.

When he returned, having only been able to find a pair that were nearly too small on Louis, not to mention his long legs, Sam was fighting the giant spider and the girls were squealing from behind their fingers.

“Brilliant stuff, isn’t it,” Louis whispered in his ear as he hunkered back down in the beanbag.

“Mmm,” Harry nodded, watching the massive arachnid scuttle across the screen.

“Who would I be, you think?” Louis asked him, still in a whisper.

“You mean in Lord of the Rings?”

“Ya.”

“Probably Arwen,” Harry said, grinning stupidly before he turned and saw Louis’ comically offended expression.

“You’d better be careful, I’ll get more eggnog.”

“Fine,” Harry relented, biting his lower lip in as he thought, “Maybe you’d actually be Sam.”

“Sam?” Louis looked a bit crestfallen.

“Not like, looks wise,” Harry clarified, “I think you look more like an elf. But as a character, you’d be Sam.”

“Really?” Louis still seemed unconvinced.

“You’re loyal and you’re brave and you’re always taking care of everyone, and you’re a great friend.”

His words stunned Louis into momentary silence.

“Huh. Maybe,” he finally said, giving Harry a strange little smile.

They sat through the next chunk of the movie in silence. Louis only spoke again when Sam and Frodo excited Mount Doom and collapsed onto the rock, the lava flowing around them.

“You’re Frodo, then,” Louis whispered, right as Frodo embraced Sam on the screen and Fizzy and Lottie started sniffling.

Their hips and legs had already been pressed together the whole movie, so Harry didn’t see the point of not touching his best friend a little more. He snaked his arms around Louis under the blanket, because if Frodo and Sam could hold each other, so could they. He gave Louis’ middle a gentle squeeze as Frodo said, “I’m glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee, here at the end of all things.”

Louis let out a tiny sigh and leaned into Harry just a smidge. Harry eventually brought his arms back to his side of the beanbag, and they watched the remainder of the movie oddly stiff, neither of them even wiggling. As the credits started to roll a tiny voice called from the edge of the living room, “It’s almost time!”

Louis stopped the DVD and switched to ABC. The crystal ball of Time’s Square had already started its slow decent to the hear 2010.

The whole Tomlinson clan chanted together, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!”

The living room erupted in cheers, echoing those from the TV as a saxophone played _Auld Lang Syne_ over loudspeakers in New York City. The twins blew on their party kazoos and Jay and Mark kissed. Fizzy and Lottie, almost too cool for cheering, clapped and ewwwwed at their parents’ display of affection.

Harry’s eyes roved across the screen as couple after couple kissed, confetti falling on their blissful faces.

“Wanna go someday?” Louis said, watching him intently.

“Huh? Oh. I guess.” Harry collected himself, sighing. “They all look so happy.”

“I’ll take you there,” Louis said amidst the cheering, his cheeks rosy pink, a look in his eyes Harry couldn’t decipher.

“Happy twenty-ten, Lou,” Harry raised his eggnog.

“Happy new year, Hazza.”


	11. "Knit Me Together In My Mother's Womb"

When Harry returned home the next evening, after having had far too much fun with Louis and his family, he took time to scribble down his resolutions. Though he never held to them long, he completed the exercise every year. As he aged he felt increasingly guilty about never actually changing anything in his life, but he promised himself this year would be different, as he promised himself every year.

He dug out the half filled notebook he kept for such things and flipped it open. There sat 2009’s resolutions, still un-resoluted. _Start running/become a jogger_ : well that hadn’t happened. Harry wondered if he should keep it on the list. Running seemed less glamorous in the dead of winter. _Eat less sugar, mom says your sweet tooth is out of control_ : like that was ever going to change. _Try to make more friends_ : he could take that off, on that he’d actually done quite well. He thought of Louis and smiled, but the smile faded from his lips as he saw the next scribbled line: _start being pure_.

On that front Harry had been a miserable, abject failure. Not only had he failed, though, he’d been getting worse. Harry touched himself once a day, sometimes more. He couldn’t exactly remember when it had become such a frequent occurrence; he had never been so lax about it before. Maybe he had allowed the habit to take hold because of his increasingly strong urges. He’d let his cravings spiral out of control, there was no other explanation. Sometime I the last few months he’d stopped gate-keeping his body and now it demanded attention from him daily.

Feeling quite shameful, Harry copied the resolution onto the new page he’d marked “2010.” He could start now, though he’d already botched the first day of the year inadvertently. He’d woken up hard that morning, cuddled into a sleeping bag on Louis’ bedroom floor. As much as he had tried to ignore it, eventually it pained him and he’d reached down and squeezed himself. Louis had woken up then, though, yawning and stretching about in his bed like a spiky-haired kitten, mumbling groggy morning greetings to Harry as he smacked his sleep-thick lips together.

This hadn’t helped Harry’s problem. The guilt and fear that his best friend would notice just made him _harder_ , and Harry started having very murderous thoughts towards his body. Thankfully, Louis had worse morning vision than Harry, needing his glasses just to see his way to the bathroom and fumble about for his contacts. Louis eventually crawled out of bed and picked up said glasses, shoving them crookedly on his face as he made his way down the hall.

Harry had thrown on his clothes, thankful his baggy sweats had dried out from the eggnog of the night before, more thankful his hoodie fell past his hips. He waited his turn for the bathroom impatiently, but once he got in he found it nearly impossible to pee. Feeling immensely ashamed, Harry had turned on the faucet and given in. He’d come in half a minute, sitting red-faced on the toilet.

But that had been an emergency situation. Harry vowed to do better now, to control it. He also promised himself he’d finish Uncle Richie’s devotional. This New Year he would get right with God and in doing so the guilt would be lifted off his shoulders.

Yet for all his pious intent, God seemed determined to test him. Two of the first three devotionals Harry read were concerned with sexual holiness. The second, much to Harry’s burning, red-faced embarrassment, discussed God’s plan for procreation. It quoted scriptures about the sin of ‘spilling your seed outside a woman,’ and Harry had gone to sleep feeling gross and guilty. The thought of ‘spilling his seed’ inside a woman made him quite upset, for some reason; he detested the idea of impregnating a girl, and when he realized this way of thinking might get him in trouble down the line, say, in marriage, he confronted it head on and asked himself _why_.

_Jealously_. The word popped into his head like a thunderbolt. He didn’t want to be the one _causing_ the pregnancy. It felt wrong to think of some girl carrying his baby; the vision of it alone caused him to feel detached, angry, and bitter, and it caused a different type of ache, this time low in his abdomen.

Even his dreams were unable to sort through this onslaught of feelings, and he woke sweaty and hard the next morning. Bitterly deciding to give up, he hurried into the shower, letting the hot water beat against his back as he pulled himself. He built quickly, starved for the attention. Relishing the feeling of valiant rebelliousness, Harry watched as his release spilled millions of little seeds down the shower drain. He nearly laughed as he thought of them dying in the sewers, unused, disembodied, _not_ inside a girl.

He felt guilty about it afterwards, of course, but school soon distracted him, as did Louis. By the next Sunday, he’d all but forgotten about the incident.

Lakeside liked to have ‘fellowship’ luncheons in the church basement every now and then, and that’s where Harry found himself after church. Anne had been assigned to dessert and had brought a plate of left-over Christmas cookies (still as good as the day she’d baked them). Harry and Louis loaded their plates and sat with their parents and the girls, but Mark and Robin soon left to the deacons’ meeting upstairs and the girls wandered off to play. Only Anne and Jay remained, absorbed in their own conversation, chatting between bites of dessert.

People were milling about, changing tables to talk to various friends. Louis had finished his food first, and now kept trying to engage Harry in a napkin-folding contest. As Harry still had three bites of lasagna to go, Louis kept winning handily. 

“Sarah!” Jay exclaimed, as a heavily pregnant Sarah Hines walked up to them, her sixteen-month-old baby boy, Johnny, bouncing in her arms. They motioned for her to sit, and she did.

Louis immediately dropped his napkin and turned his noisy folding chair towards Sarah, begging with his arms outstretched.

“May I?”

Harry had never seen his smile so wide or his eyes so crinkly. Sarah happily handed her baby over and Louis melted into a pile of endearing mush. He cooed over the little human, sitting him on his lap and bouncing the baby up and down, holding on to his little hands while making outrageously contorted faces. Baby John rewarded him with giggles and a toothless grin. 

Harry watched, entranced. He tuned out Sarah and their moms, preferring to watch Louis entertain. John bubbled up spit as he laughed, but Louis just dabbed it away with a napkin, never once dropping character, his face always making some new expression. He took the baby’s little fist and touched it to his cheek, turning his face as if the force of the blow had actually moved him. Johnny loved it, and Harry actually worried the tiny human would burst from laughing so hard.

This is when the odd ache in Harry’s lower belly assailed him again; it joined with the usual, constant ache that accompanied Louis’ presence, and together they rendered him distracted and uncomfortable. Slightly annoyed at himself, Harry swallowed down a sudden, strong desire to hold the baby. He’d always been envious when relatives or friends would hand Gemma their new additions, never once asking Harry if he’d like to cuddle the infant too. It had seemed fawning over babies wasn’t allowed for him, as a boy. He’d never been so bold as to just ask to hold one, like Louis had. Now that this possibility presented itself, Harry didn’t know how to feel.

Watching Louis’ antics, no shame or self-consciousness accompanying them, made the low ache worse. Harry realized that it pulsed deep in his groin, in the place he imagined he’d have a womb, were he a girl. He didn’t contemplate this long, though, as he got dragged back to reality by the thread of Sarah’s conversation.

“He’s obsessed with it now, unfortunately,” Sarah was saying.

“But that’s so sweet,” Anne said reassuringly.

“My mom thought so, but Adam is absolutely against it. He doesn’t want Johnny to have a doll. He says it will confuse him. So, back to my mom it went. It even had a cute little bunny with it.”

“That’s exactly what I did when I was expecting Lottie, though. Granted, Louis was much older than John, but it does help children to have a baby of their own to care for when their mommy’s expecting.”

Harry saw Anne nod in agreement. Sarah, however, looked over to where Louis doted on her son, a soft realization coming to her eyes. Harry saw, and wanted to scream. 

She said quietly, “Perhaps Adam has a point.” Harry held his breath, but neither Anne nor Jay had seen the look. He alone realized the implication behind her words.

Harry knew his cheeks were burning, but he couldn’t exactly run away. Louis remained oblivious to the conversation, and Sarah moved on to another topic. Harry felt a hungry shame gnaw at him as he pushed away his previous desire to hold Johnny. Sarah would look at him that way next.

And not just Sarah, Harry realized. He noticed other faces in the fellowship glancing at Louis with the same curious disapproval in their eyes. He wanted to rescue Louis from their looks but he also wished he weren’t there, wished he could disappear, wished he weren’t associated with—

Louis.

Harry’s heartbeat snapped to attention and tears came to his eyes. No, he didn’t mean it. Just thinking it felt like a cowardly betrayal. He bit his lip hard and made himself breathe, made himself ignore the stares surrounding them.

“Harry, watch,” Louis finally looked over at him, his face radiant. He showed off Johnny’s skill of riding his knee, bouncing it every which way while holding Johnny’s arms securely.

“Giddyup, giddyup!” Louis sing-songed, clopping his tongue along softly to Johnny’s joyous laughter.

Inside Harry, a knot loosened. He didn’t care what they thought; let them look, let them judge. No one would steal the happiness on Louis’ face. No one.

Harry made eye contact with the baby, asking him, “Are you a big cowboy, Johnny? Whoah, watch out your horsey’s turning! Ohhhh, there he’s turning again! Better hold on!”

Harry giggled with the baby until Sarah rose slowly from the table and collected him with genuine thanks for the reprieve.

Louis wiped off the infant spit that had spattered him as Anne and Jay resumed their previous conversation.

“He’s a cutie,” Louis smiled delightedly.

“You’re so good with babies,” Harry said, because he couldn’t think of what else to say.

“I should be, I’ve had four of them.” Louis paused and corrected himself. “I mean, kind of.”

Harry took a deep breath and poked Louis’ arm.

“I want a brownie, you coming?”

They got up together and headed for the dessert table. Harry made sure he stuck close to Louis’ side.


	12. Harry's Sweet Sixteen

“I swear, this thing is a heart attack on a plate,” Gemma muttered, flinging the finishing touches of chopped chocolate onto the Bavarian Torte.

By some miracle Gemma had agreed to come home for his birthday, and Harry would take her, sardonic comments and all. He smiled as he reached for the napkins.

“You do not have to partake, Gemma,” Anne huffed, raising one eyebrow.

“More for me,” Robin teased from over at the table where he’d been attaching blue balloons to the backs of the dining room chairs.

“In fact,” Anne said, turning to Harry, “Even without your sister’s help, the cake might disappear fast tonight. Louis has a large family.” Anne said it with a taunting twinkle in her eye.

“I don’t mind.” Harry hid a sheepish smile behind the package of paper plates he’d started unwrapping.

As he and Louis were attached at the hip most days, no one had batted an eye when Harry asked if they could have the Tomlinson’s over to celebrate. Their parents got along splendidly and the girls absolutely worshiped Gemma, so it seemed only logical.

The doorbell rang and Harry raced to answer it, his socked feet skidding between the rugs.

“THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!”

As he swung the door open Louis blew a loud party kazoo right in his face, the shiny, curly end of it thwaking Harry’s nose.

“Happy sweet sixteen, Harold!” Louis yelled, springing on him in a giant bear hug, his whole being luminous with excitement.

“Thanks, Lou.” Harry smiled so big his dimples felt like trenches in his skin.

“And look who I brought to celebrate! Thing one, thing two, thing three, AND thing four!” Louis ushered his sisters into the house, Lottie and Fizzy shooting him exasperated looks as they passed Harry.

“Hello dear, happy birthday,” Jay said warmly, embracing Harry as her and Mark slipped their shoes off and put them by the door next to the girls’.

As Louis made to follow Harry into the dining room, Jay caught his arm.

“Louis, your shoes,” she reminded, pointing to his sneakers.

“Mom,” Louis moaned, returning grudgingly. Though it was the dead of winter he’d forgotten socks. Again.

“S’okay Lou, I promise I won’t smell your feet,” Harry said helpfully, grinning at Jay as Louis mock fumed.

“You’re both the worst, see if I come to any more birthdays, just see,” Louis mumbled, toeing off his shoes and walking gingerly towards the kitchen in his bare feet.

“This is from Mark and I, Harry. We hope you like it.”

Harry took the gift bag from her, nodding his thanks. “I’m sure I will, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

They gathered around the table for food and festivities. Gemma had prepared popcorn, chips and salsa, and a stellar platter of cheese and crackers to complement Anne’s taco dinner. Everyone soon became engrossed in board games, save the twins, who wandered in and out of the dining room, easily bored. They tried playing Pit first, but Fizzy found it difficult to reach the spoons, so they switched to Uno, and later to Monopoly. 

Time flew by. Harry laughed until his stomach hurt when Jay snatched Park Place, thwarting Louis’ elaborate and well-voiced plans of real-estate domination. Louis proceeded to dramatically pout like the world had ended. Harry giggled secretly behind his hand when Louis’ pawn landed in jail for the hundredth time and instead of hollering complaints he stuck one of the discarded Pit spoons on his nose, balancing it there until the twins started squealing with glee and trying to jostle it off.

Sometime after dark Jay and Anne disappeared into the kitchen. Gemma stood and flipped off the lights, and soon only the incoming glow of candles illuminated the streamers twisting down from the dining room chandelier.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Robin started off the singing as Anne rounded the corner carrying Harry’s cake, bedecked with sixteen striped candles. Harry had difficulty picking out individual voices due to the twins’ yowling, but Louis’ voice cut through. It floated to his ears silkily, like spider webs in the wind, yet sharply distinct. It had a tone like the clear peal of a bell amidst a storm. He latched onto it and locked eyes with Louis, who smiled back as his cheekbones caught the candlelight.

Harry should have been looking at the cake before him, not at his best friend. But he didn’t much care.

“Make a wish, Harry!” Daisy called out as the chorus ended.

“Okay.” Harry cracked his knuckles and closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the flickering wicks against his face. A wish came to him, half formed and inarticulate: he wanted this always. He wanted these people, these families, and Louis around him always. He wished that Louis would be his best friend forever.

The ache swelled against his ribcage.

Quickly, he opened his eyes and blew out the candles, banishing the discomfort from his mind. Everyone clapped and cheered, but Harry looked only at Louis, meeting his eyes as Gemma flipped the lights back on, seeing in them blue, pupil-huge mirrors of his own. 

Anne sliced the torte and gave Harry and Louis the biggest pieces, much to Robin’s protest. Everyone enthusiastically complemented Anne’s signature bake, the twins liking it so much they fought over who had the biggest chunk of cream-cheese-and-chocolate-flake icing.

Harry ate his cake slowly, savoring it. Louis had no experience with the word ‘savor.’ He devoured his quickly, enjoying it far too much, seeming to slip into a personal ecstasy. Harry watched as he forked bites to his pink lips and closed them over the creamy icing, the flakes of chocolate melting into the edges of his mouth, lining it like makeup. His jaw worked slowly, smoothly, making angles Harry imagined were sharp to the touch. When he’d finished, Louis ran his fingers over the remnants of icing on his plate, popping them in his mouth and pulling them back out clean and damp and slightly red.

“Hairball, earth to hairball,” Gemma waved a hand in front of his face.

“W-what?” Harry stuttered, blinking at Gemma dazedly.

“I said, want me to get the presents now?” 

“Oh. Oh sure,” Harry smiled at her, hoping Gemma couldn’t see how his cheeks had warmed.

His presents were small, nothing extravagant. Harry opened his parents’ first, a small package wrapped with shooting star paper. They’d gotten him a soft-knit shirt adorned with a penguin. Harry loved it.

Next he opened Gemma’s, an encyclopedia of C.S. Lewis quotes she’d found at the second-hand store on campus. The girls had also gotten Harry a gift. He unwrapped a shiny new board game to their excited shrieks.

Harry opened Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson’s next, a gift card to Barnes and Noble. He thanked them enthusiastically, realizing, with a clenching gut, that only Louis’ present remained.

Harry slid out the card first, smiling at the goofy picture of two dogs gobbling birthday cake. He read Louis’ small, scrawling handwriting to himself.

_Happy sweet sixteen to my very best friend!!!! Hope you had a wonderful day, Harold. You deserve it. My gift’s pretty lame, but I hope you like it. Open the bag but don’t open the thing on the bottom until we’re alone. The girls would tease me forever. –Lou_

Harry bit his lip. He set the card down quickly and fished into the bag, pulling out a Packer’s jersey.

“No way,” he said, his mouth hanging open in shock. Harry had always wanted a Favre jersey, a no. 4, but they were too expensive back when Favre was quarterback.

“Where on earth did you find this?” Harry asked, clutching the shirt to his chest.

“Oh, I got lucky at a thrift store,” Louis smiled brightly.

“I should say so, let me see that,” Robin motioned for the jersey and Harry obliged. It got passed around the table to much fuss, Jay even asking when on earth Louis had found the time to poke around in thrift stores.

Harry met Louis’ eyes as the shirt came back to him and nodded slightly at the bag. Louis blinked twice.

“Mommy can we play the new game?” Daisy asked, fidgeting around in her seat.

“Maybe you kids can play, honey, I think the adults are going to sit in comfy chairs in the living room,” Anne replied for Jay, getting up and clearing the dessert plates.

Gemma broke away with the parents, though instead of joining in whatever adult conversation they started, she curled up in an armchair on her phone. Lottie and Fizzy started un-boxing the new game with Harry’s blessing, trying to explain the rules to the twins. Harry listened half-heartedly, curiosity gnawing away at his stomach. Louis caught his drift.

“Harry, think I could borrow some socks?”

Harry frowned at him. “Sure, Lou. Go ahead.”

“Where are they, exactly?”

“In my room,” Harry blinked at him. “Oh.” He stood up so abruptly his chair nearly toppled over. “I’ll get them for you, come on.”

Louis smirked triumphantly, stealthily tucking the giftbag behind his back as they hurried up the stairs.

They tumbled into Harry’s bedroom and plopped down on the rug.

“Go ahead,” Louis said, eagerly presenting his gift yet again.

Harry felt around inside until he grasped a hunk of thick construction paper. He pulled it out and stared at a little booklet, its spine held together with staples, its cover a pasted picture of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. In thick, markered letters across the top it read, “Best Friends Book.”

Harry dimpled terribly and side-eyed Louis in wonder. “Did you make me a book?”

Louis fiddled with his hands, nervously chewing his lip. “Maybe. Open it.”

Harry did. Inside were pages and pages of inside jokes and quotes, clipped magazine pictures of movies they’d watched, and attempted illustrations of all the various activities they’d done. It looked adorable overall, and spectacular in detail, every page inked over with Louis’ writing, which he’d been neater about than normal. Harry flipped through it, his grin growing with each new page.

When he got three quarters of the way in, he found blank pages. Louis coughed delicately into his hand.

“Er, that’s for, you know. More.”

Harry swallowed down whatever had lodged in his throat. He folded the book closed and pressed it to his chest.

“I love it, Lou. It’s the best present ever.”

“It’s so girly, isn’t it,” Louis muttered, a smile playing about his lips though he continued to stare at the carpet and fidget.

“I think it’s awesome,” Harry stated, scooting closer to Louis and throwing his arms around him, drawing him into a hug.

Harry tipped them slightly off balance with his gangly limbs, however, and instead they toppled over, their arms twined together messily.

“Oops,” Harry said apologetically.

“Hi.” Louis had landed on top, pinning Harry to the floor. “I’ve heard you’re ticklish. Some people outgrow such things, though, so we need to test you again, this being your birthday and all.”

Harry had only a moment to squawk out a protest and try to cover his belly before Louis attacked him, his lithe fingers hitting just the right places, making Harry squirm and yelp and twist and laugh under Louis until his sides hurt and his eyes were streaming.

“Uncle uncle uncle!!” Harry screamed, trying desperately to get his legs up to Louis’ torso so he could push him away, but Louis knew that trick too well.

“What’s that you said? Buckle? Chuckle?”

Louis was merciless. Harry thought he might wet himself.

“Uncle!” Harry cried, his fingers trying to reciprocate the tickling, but to no effect.

“I think I’ve gone suddenly deaf, must be all the yelling in here,” Louis giggled, bearing down hard right above Harry’s tender hips.

“Louuuuuuu I’m gonna pee my pants stooooooop,” Harry moaned, his muscles jerking in twenty different directions.

The tickling ceased. Louis didn’t move, though, just hovered above him, his face flushed and close enough Harry could smell his cake-sweet breath.

“Alright, birthday boy, I’ll relent just this once. But only because it’s your birthday.”

Harry tried to recover some ounce of his stability, panting out, “That’s noble, Lou. Gold star for you.”

“Eh, I try. I have a reputation to maintain and all.”

“I know.” Harry smiled up at him, his eyes maybe falling for too long on Louis’ thick eyelashes as they batted like sleepy caterpillars each time he blinked.

“Harry,” Louis started.

“Ya?”

Louis looked down at him a moment, a strange light coming to his eyes.

“Nevermind.” Louis pushed up from him and stood. “We’d better get back down, make sure the girls haven’t caused any disasters.”

Harry wanted to press, wanted to ask further, but Louis had already launched into the hallway, his smelly, bare feet trumping down the stairs.

Before he followed, Harry tucked the book under his pillow securely, replacing Azzy on top with the admonition, “Make sure you guard it, okay?”

The stuffed animal made no answer, but Harry smiled anyway. He grabbed a pair of socks on his way out.


	13. Snowflakes That Stay On My Nose And Eyelashes

The snowstorm had come silently and swiftly during the night, blanketing the county with three solid feet of heavy white. Robin had cleared the driveway via snowblower before leaving for work, even managing to free the apron from where street plows had packed in mounds of thick, grey sludge. City officials canceled school for the whole district, a rarity made possible more by the icy conditions of dropping temperatures than the snow itself. Salt trucks were now out in force.

Harry had been munching on a grilled cheese sandwich when Louis called. Could he come over, since they had a snow day? Maybe they could build a fort or something? Harry had nearly leapt out of his skin in happiness, only pausing to ask Louis how he planned to travel.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be there. ‘Bout an hour.”

Harry informed Anne of their plans, and she rolled her eyes but smiled, reminding him to not track snow all over the house when they eventually came back inside.

Harry slid on his nearly too-small snow pants and heavy winter coat, completing the look with a hat that tied under his chin and had a funny little tassel at the top. Finally slipping on his boots and gloves, he waded out into the yard, his footsteps trailing behind him in deep craters. Usually Harry hated messing up the perfection of a snowfall, but his quirk mattered little in light of Louis’ impending arrival. As he waited he stockpiled a few dozen snowballs. The snow packed at a perfect consistency.

“Hazza!”

Louis’ voice called from the driveway gate. Harry ran towards him as fast as the deep snow would allow, utterly unprepared for the sight that greeted him. 

Chance, his muzzle covered in white from where he’d been eating snow, barked up at him happily. He wore a fluffy harness that attached via rope to a bright pink sled, atop which sat Phoebe, looking like a plump purple pillow in her snow clothes. Louis pulled an identical pink sled behind him that carried Daisy, similarly bundled in purple. 

“M’sorry about this, but mom needed me to watch the twins. Is it okay?” Louis smiled apologetically at him, his cheeks bright red with cold and sweat, his fringe sticking damply to his forehead under the folds of his beanie. His jacket hung half open, and he heaved into his words a little, still catching his breath, clearly the worse for ware between the two sled-pullers.

“’Course! I don’t mind at all,” Harry said truthfully, smiling as Phoebe told Chance to giddy up.

Daisy tried the same tactic with Louis and got a soft snowball in the arm. “Tell me to mush one more time, missy, and I’ll throw you right in that snow bank over there.” Daisy went very silent.

The girls, of course, were more interested in a snowman than a snow fort, so Louis and Harry indulged them. Louis insisted on rolling the bottom, even though in the span of two minutes the boulder of snow became too large for him to push alone. Harry lent what muscle he could, and soon the base stood five feet high, and the boys realized it would be quite difficult to build on top of it.

“How much can you lift?” Louis asked him, panting, his lashes wet and clumpy.

“Dunno, maybe like a quarter that size?”

“Okay. You roll the middle one, and I’ll pack down a ramp to get it up there. We’ll just have to chip it away when we’re done.”

Harry did as instructed and to his surprise, the snow ramp worked moderately well. A good deal of grunting and huffing and slipping and becoming absolutely drenched in melted snow and sweat later, they managed to rest the second snowball atop the first.

“He’s so tall!” Daisy squealed, clapping her mittened hands together in delight. The girls had been making snow angles, intermittently yelling at Chance to stop destroying them as he ran around the yard, his mouth open to scoop up soggy mouthfuls.

“Just a head now,” Louis grinned at Harry, his smile white as the snow.

“I’ll go get a scarf and stuff,” Harry offered, his stomach dropping dizzily as Louis bent over and began rolling the top.

He found an old blue scarf in the basement and grabbed an unwashed carrot from the fridge. Raisins seemed too small to do the giant sculpture justice, so he fished out a dozen prunes from the cupboard. Holding everything in one hand, he clumsily stomped his feet into his boots and hurried back outside.

“Here, Harry, stand in my hands, I’ll boost you up, it’s too high to reach.”

Harry offloaded his goods to Daisy, telling her not to drop any prunes in the snow.

“I think it makes more sense if I boost you, Lou, since you’re smaller,” Harry suggested, a little smile playing about his lips.

“I am not!” Louis said, indignant, looking rather dwarfed beside the large snowman. Harry giggled.

“I’m still getting taller, though. I’ve got a half inch on you already.”

“Untrue. I just slouch too much. Here, come on, we don’t have all day.” Louis made a footrest with his hands.

Harry sighed and picked up the snowman’s head, carefully stepping onto Louis’ palms and bracing himself against the snowman’s heavy sides. It took a few tries, but eventually he stuck the head on strait and squished it down.

Louis held steady and guided Harry gently when he stepped off.

“Looks pretty good if I do say so myself,” Louis observed, nodding at their handiwork.

“Harry?” Harry heard the tiny voice behind him and turned to find Daisy holding out the carrot apologetically, half eaten. “Chance bit it, Harry.”

“It’s okay, I’ll get another one. You can start sticking the buttons on, okay?”

Daisy smiled at him as Louis took the scarf from her and wrapped it around the snowman’s neck.

“He’ll take a bit more packing in, but I think he’s almost done, girls. We just need sticks for his arms now.”

Harry trudged back to the house, his whole body warm from exertion, the frigid temperature only affecting his nose. In fact, parts of him felt too warm. Heat pooled in his tummy every time he turned around and saw Louis studiously searching for sticks in the bushes. Harry heaved in lungfulls of fresh, snow-washed air, yet still felt out of breath. The ache, ever present with Louis near, pulsed dully inside him as it usually did, but then it branched out like the snowman’s arms, reaching down past Harry’s hips, throbbing in his pelvis, making him think perhaps he had to pee.

He pushed these symptoms away and hurried to grab another carrot. When he made it back to Louis, however, the ache had only grown stronger. Suddenly, with a hot-faced shame, Harry became very grateful for his bulky snow pants. He bit his lip and prayed quickly that it wouldn’t show, if God even answered prayers about such things.

“Perfect! You’re not to eat this one, Chance, do you hear me?” Louis took the carrot from Harry and waggled it at his dog, the later simply eyeing it hungrily, his tongue lolling to the side.

Harry concentrated on filling in the snowman’s crevices and willed away the uncomfortable hardness between his legs. Eventually it complied. They completed the snowman soon after, the twins admiring it for all of two seconds before they began complaining about being cold and hungry. Louis looked apologetically to Harry.

“It’s fine, we can go inside and make hot chocolate,” he offered. Daisy and Phoebe screamed happily and started to race towards the house, Chance right behind them.

“Look, Hazza!” Louis interjected just as Harry had started to follow the girls. Louis pointed to the fence line, where, balancing atop the wooden slats, walked the lithe black cat, it’s eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “He’s come to appreciate our handiwork. Or perhaps he’s missed me,” Louis mused, walking towards the creature.

“It does look like the same one. I bet he did miss you, Lou,” Harry offered.

“Not sure why, seeing as I’m clearly a dog person. Cat’s get hair all over you,” Louis explained, nonetheless making kissy sounds at the creature and waving hi as if it could understand human mannerisms.

“Lou, you realize Chance sheds ten times as much as Martha.”

“Ya, but dog hair is different. It doesn’t sneakily float into your mouth like cobwebs.”

Harry burst out in a cackle, instinctively muting himself by slapping his gloved hands over his mouth. Louis heard it anyway, and smiled fondly at him.

“Someday you’re gonna figure out I’m not really that funny,” he said a bit mournfully.

Harry felt a _Lord of the Rings_ quote coming on, and he couldn’t help but grin stupidly in anticipation. “But today is not that day. This day, we FIGHT! Er, rather, we RACE!” Harry took off towards the house, glancing back to see Louis staggering to catch him.

“Not fair, Harold, you had a head start!” Louis huffed from a good few feet behind him. Harry howled in victory as he neared the house.

Right before Harry got to the back door, though, Louis sprang onto his back in a flying leap, pushing him face first deep into the snow.

“I’ve won!” Louis cheered, whooping and hollering, simultaneously pulling Harry from his icy prison.

Harry sputtered out the snow that had gotten in his mouth. He could barely see through all the ice crystals sticking to his eyelashes and melting on his skin, and snow had definitely gone down his already sweat-soaked jacket.

“I’m gonna get you for that, Lou,” he promised, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. He tried to wipe the snow from his eyes but failed due to his clumsily large gloves.

“Hold still you helpless baby,” Louis chided, kneeling in the snow and biting off his own mittens in an instant, holding them in his teeth as he wiped at Harry’s eyes with his warm fingers.

Harry stilled under his touch, blinking rapidly as Louis sluiced away the melt from his vision, brushing delicately over his eyebrows and forehead, dusting the snow from his curly fringe, and wiping down his cheeks with his thumbs. When Harry could see strait, he looked up and saw Louis staring, his smile vanished, his mittens having dropped from his mouth to land in the snow.

“One last bit,” Louis said as he dabbed a droplet off Harry’s nose. “There, good as new.”

Harry tried to say thank you, or make any sound at all, but he couldn’t. His throat had frozen, but not from the cold. He had a sudden urge to dunk his head in the snow again, just to feel Louis’ fingers on his skin once more.

For two breaths they looked at each other, saying nothing. Finally Louis shuffled up, grabbing his mittens. “So, hot chocolate, was it? I call extra marshmallows in mine.”

Harry scrambled to stand too, nodding vigorously. “You can have them all,” he said, wanting to give Louis everything, anything.

“I—I don’t need them _all_ , Haz.”

“Um. Ya, I know.” Harry tried to hide his wet face, because he felt it going beet red.

“Thanks though,” Louis said softly as Harry held the door open for him.

They walked inside, silent until the twins accosted them.

Harry made everyone hot chocolate and handed the marshmallow bag to Louis. They hung up their wet snow clothes on the radiator and spent the rest of the afternoon playing card games and munching on Harry’s leftover birthday cake. The afternoon remained pleasant enough, but Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Louis’ gentle fingers against his eyelids. He wanted more than anything to be touched like that again.


	14. Unseasoned Chicken

Every year Niall’s family would visit during February, specifically for the joys of snow. As Niall got older fewer and fewer family members would accompany him, and now Niall alone would make the three-hour pane ride. Though he lived in the South, Niall remained a true-blooded northerner, provided Harry lent him the appropriate snow clothes and slipped him one or two or a dozen hand warmers throughout the duration of his visit. Niall’s hatred for spicy food hadn’t decreased, though, so Harry guessed the Northern hadn’t entirely vanished.

This February Niall’s winter break fell on the same week as the Creation Museum youth group trip. Determined to see Harry (more likely the snow) despite this, Niall begged his parents to let him fly up on a school weekend, not waiting for break. They’d agreed, so Niall planned to descend on the Twist household for a swift forty-eight hours.

Harry told Louis of these plans rather sadly; as much as he’d missed Niall, even two days without Louis by his side seemed unbearable. But he didn’t want to assume the two would get along, and in fact he rather feared they wouldn’t.

Fate kindly decided to test that fear.

Robin picked Niall up at the airport far too early in the morning for Harry to warrant waking up. Thus, seconds after the front door slammed and Harry dreamily registered the noise, he was jolted from sleep by someone jumping on his bed.

“I have ARRIVED! Wake up you lazy lard lump,” Niall sang out at the top of his lungs.

Harry rolled over and pulled the comforter up to hide his head. “Ugh, there’s a singing Irishman in my bedroom, how annoying.”

“I had to wake up at two o’clock just to get here, the least you could do is say hello you ungrateful squashed cabbage,” Niall complained, yanking off Harry’s blankets with one swift but mighty tug.

Harry relented and sat up, holding his pillow tight against himself, a reserve weapon of sorts. He knew Niall’s go-to greeting.

“That’s stupidly early, couldn’t your mom get any other flights?”

“Not for this weekend. Thanks for going all religious on me and crashing our plans.”

Harry squinted at him and shook his head. “I told you a month ago. It just sort of happened, and besides, I want to go.”

“Sure. I’ll find out the real reason, just give me a few hours. No one volunteers to go hang around a museum when they could be cross country skiing with their best friend.”

Niall tried to be surreptitious about grabbing Harry’s other pillow, but after so many years, Harry knew his tells too well. Without waiting for him to look up, Harry smashed his reserve weapon across Niall’s face.

Niall rewarded him with a shocked, but still pleasantly delighted, stare. “Bring it, Harry!”

The dull thuds of feather-stuffed bags smacking against teenage-boy reverberated through the hallway, punctuated by shrieks of laughter. Niall won, commandeering Harry’s pillow and cackling mercilessly at his prize. In triumph he seized his favorite object of Harry’s, Azzy, and began miming a speech for the stuffed animal.

“I hereby declare that Niall is the king of the bed, and Harry should make him pancakes, and also I’m old and gross!”

“Hey!” Harry tried to snatch Azzy back, but Niall clutched him close. How could he have forgotten Niall’s love of teasing him over his sleeping partner?

“Seriously Harry, isn’t this thing growing mold yet? Ick.” He grinned at Harry but set the deformed lion down gently amidst Harry’s rumpled covers, even tucking the blankets around its matted body. That’s when he saw it.

“What’s this?” Niall asked, pulling the booklet out from where it lay half exposed beneath the sheets, its usual hiding place under Harry’s pillow disrupted. He’d done it before Harry could stop him. 

“Wait!” Harry nearly fell off the bed in his haste to protect Louis’ gift from prying eyes, but to no avail.

“Best friends book?” Niall’s mouth hung open. “What the heck, Harry, what’s this supposed to be?”

Harry felt his cheeks reddening. “Um.” He tried to snatch it back again, but Niall evaded him, flipping through the pages, his eyes growing wider with each turn.

“D’you have a girlfriend, Harry?” He asked, genuine confusion written on his face.

“No!” Harry said it maybe a bit too quickly.

“Who is this, then? You never told me you got a replacement best friend.” Niall gave him a small glare, feigning jealousy. They both lived too far apart to not have other friends in their lives.

“Ya, well.” Harry tried to will away his blush. “His name’s Louis.”

“Cool. Is he coming over? I have to meet him, you know, to approve of him as my replacement and everything.”

Harry had little option but to call Louis up and ask if he’d mind meeting Niall. Of course, Louis thought this a great idea.

That’s how Harry found himself introducing his two closest friends to each other an hour later.

“Lou, this is Niall. Like the river, you know. But spelled different, obviously.”

Niall honked out a laugh. “You’ve never spelled it right a day in your life Harry, but nice try. You up for sledding, Louis? I always make Harry do snow stuff.”

“Sure, I’m good with whatever,” Louis shrugged, his cheeks still brandy-pink from the cold.

“Niall claims he has a northern constitution, but he only lasts like an hour at most. We’ll be back here defrosting pretty soon,” Harry teased.

“I mean, lasting an hour sounds pretty good to me,” Niall chortled, making a pumping motion with his hips. To Harry’s shock, Louis clamped a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to contain an outburst of laughter.

“I don’t get it,” Harry mumbled, looking between the two of them. Niall stood there grinning, his teeth fully out, mouth open in a soundless laugh, looking approvingly at Louis.

“He gets it, which makes him less lame than you,” Niall said.

“Hey now, Harry’s not lame, he’s just, you know,” Louis tried to defend him.

“Sheltered? Naïve?” Niall offered.

“I was gonna go more with innocent, actually.” Louis looped an arm around Harry’s waist. “He’s better than the both of us combined, Niall.”

“Eh, more sex for us then, right!” Niall punched Louis’ shoulder. “I’m gonna pee before getting my boots on, ‘kay?” He hurried towards the bathroom, whistling some tune or other.

Harry wanted to melt into the floor, but Louis still held him around the waist. This alone kept him upright. He purposely looked towards his socks, not wanting to meet Louis’ eyes.

“Hazza,” Louis whispered, leaning to his ear, “He meant lasting like—you know—when you…” Louis motioned towards his pelvis.

Harry had guessed at that meaning. He shivered, the ache rippling in him as Louis’ arm stayed snuggled securely atop his hipbones.

“You’re not naïve, Haz.”

“I am though.”

“No, shhh, stop it. I’ve just heard lots of jokes like that. ‘M corrupted now.” He squeezed Harry comfortingly.

“Ya?” Harry asked, half curious, half mortified.

“Your puns are way funnier than those kinds of jokes anyway.”

Harry let the rigidity fall out of his body and he softened into Louis’ arm. “You hate my puns, Lou.”

“Do not! But it would ruin everything if you thought I actually liked them. Guess the secret’s out, now, though.”

Harry smiled, his stomach pulsing warmly. Louis always had a way of soothing Harry’s embarrassment, of making him feel like all the insecurities and oddities about himself were normal, were good, were… important.

“I am READY to sled down hills like a motherfucker!” Niall whooped as he skidded back towards them in his socks.

“My mom, Niall,” Harry reminded him, shaking his head.

“Whoops. Come on guys lets go before the snow melts!”

Minkoon Park had one massive hill that pretty much everyone in the town frequented. The snow had been packed down by so many consecutive visits that now it lay slick and icy in the morning sun, a challenge to find a foothold in, like climbing glass rocks.

Niall valiantly struggled his way to the top, his enthusiasm alone getting him there faster than his companions. When they all reached the crest, they lined up their sleds evenly and sat down, their legs spread to either side, halting their imminent decent.

“Last one to the bottom carries the sleds back up!” Niall yelled in excitement, continuing, “Ready, set, GO!”

Harry pushed off, his sled skittering sideways before it found a track and evened out, sweeping him downward in a whoosh of bumpy snow grooves, jolting his spine and back as its thin plastic refused to absorb any shock whatsoever. The wind whipped his face harshly as he descended, nearly pushing off his hat. He could only vaguely glimpse Niall and Louis in his peripheral vision, but as he neared the bottom he realized he’d taken the lead.

As the slope leveled out the snow became powdery again and his sled slowed, eventually catching on an unpacked area and abruptly flipping up, sending Harry tumbling off.

“I got second!” Niall hollered, picking himself up from a snowdrift several yards away.

“I think this thing is defective,” Louis complained, wiping ice crystals from his very red cheeks.

“No excuses Louis! You just don’t know how to ride it,” Niall laughed and pumped his hips again, punching Louis’ arm good-naturedly.

This time Louis forced a laugh, though. Harry could tell that the smile he flashed Niall never reached his eyes. He swallowed hard and his face fell when Niall turned away.

Harry grabbed Niall’s sled from beside Louis and started the ascent again. “I’ll help, it probably is defective. It’s Gemma’s, and she hasn’t used it in ages.”

Louis gave him a little grin. “Thanks, Hazza.”

They sledded a while more without incident, but true to Harry’s prediction, after an hour Niall complained of freezing off his extremities (his exact words were “my balls are ice cubes”) and they headed home.

It turned out that Niall’s rather brash sense of humor and exuberant personality mixed well with Louis’ dramatic flare, and they had an excellent time together beating Harry soundly at monopoly. When Louis finally left for home that evening, after staying for dinner at Anne’s request, Niall shook his head and smiled at Harry.

“He’s great, Har. I like him.”

“G—good.” Harry tried to smile without pinkening.

“And your parents seem cool with him. I’m like, kinda surprised, actually.”

Harry felt his stomach clench up. “What? Why wouldn’t they be…” he asked carefully, worry knotting between his eyebrows.

Niall gave Harry a sort of bewildered look. “’Cause he’s, you know.” Niall cocked his head. “Isn’t that pretty forbidden and all? Being g—“

Harry cut him off, his head spinning in five directions, spots blurring before his eyes.

“Louis isn’t _anything_ , I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just shut up sometimes, Niall.”

Harry turned hotly on his heel and marched up the stairs towards his room. He heard Niall following.

“Okay okay! I’m sorry, Harry. Harry?” Niall caught him at the top of the steps and grabbed his shoulder, turning him.

“God you’ve gone all red. Are you alright?”

“M’fine, Niall.” Harry shrugged off his touch, feeling snappy, wanting to punch something. Niall’s face looked very inviting.

“Harry, I’m…” Niall’s voice trailed off and he stared at Harry long and hard, and when Harry glanced up to meet his eyes he saw Niall’s gaze soften into something new. He looked at Harry as if he’d just figured out a riddle, as if he’d solved some kind of puzzle, cracked a code in a game only he knew how to play.

“I’m sorry.” Niall’s defensive tone had gone, replaced with a stark sincerity. “He’s like, really cool. I like him a lot. I’m glad you found him.”

Harry’s anger melted. “Ya. Me too,” he said rather sheepishly, offering Niall a reconciliatory smile.

They didn’t speak of Louis for the remainder of the night, but Niall seemed gentler with him, less teasing and more encouraging of anything Harry told him about his life. When they crashed in Harry’s room, Niall’s sleeping bag spread on the floor, Niall didn’t try to kidnap Azzy, nor did he tease Harry about the booklet under his pillow.

*

Niall didn’t mind going to church service with Harry when he visited; if anything, he looked at the experience as an anthropologist would, analyzing and dissecting the various elements with a glee Harry didn’t quite understand.

“I’ve never seen so many pastel shirts in my life,” Niall whispered as they made their way into Harry’s Sunday school room, Louis waving them over to several seats he had saved.

“It’s like a sidewalk-chalk drawing in here,” Niall continued for Louis’ benefit.

“Wait ‘til you see Ben Winston,” Louis said, motioning towards the tall, dark-haired boy near the front of the class.

“He looks like one of those prep-school add models,” Niall giggled, sitting markedly on the other side of Louis so Harry could be next to him as well.

“Oh no we’ve summoned him. Sit up strait, you two,” Louis ordered, brushing Harry’s slightly wrinkled shirt dramatically as Ben approached them, his hand out towards Niall.

“I see you’ve brought a visitor, Harry. I’m Ben, it’s so nice to see you here this morning.”

Niall shook his hand. “I’m just up from Georgia for the weekend.”

“Georgia? My dad’s from there. Where do you live?”

“Outside Atlanta a ways.” Niall looked as if he’d rather be talking to a flamingo.

“Neat. Well I hope you enjoy the class, Pastor James is great.”

“I’m sure I’ll find it very interesting.”

At least Niall didn’t lie, but Harry felt he could have disguised the sarcasm in his voice a bit more.

As Ben moved away from them, Liam approached. Harry tried hard to look appropriately pious.

“Is this your friend, Louis?” Liam asked, all excitement and smiles. 

“Well. I suppose he is now. Niall, this is Liam, the nicest guy in the whole youth group.” Louis flashed Liam a toothy grin.

Liam almost blushed. As it was he fumbled about for words, taken aback by Louis’ introduction. “I, it’s, uh, nice to meet you, Niall. I hope we see you here again,” he said earnestly.

“Not likely, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Niall likewise smiled, shaking Liam’s hand but leaving the other boy looking quizzical as he walked away.

“Now see, _his_ shirt’s bright yellow,” Niall continued, directing his comments at Louis.

“I agree. Marked improvement over baby blue,” Louis cocurred.

“Who even wears baby blue with a suit? And with a slightly darker baby blue tie?”

Harry looked down at his own shirt. “I mean, this is kinda baby blue.” His face had heated up.

“Hazza,” Louis rolled his eyes and flicked his fringe, smoothing down Harry’s collar dramatically, his thin fingers stroking as light as feathers, his wrist bent delicately. “That’s most definitely aqua.”

For some inane reason Harry needed to see Niall’s reaction, so he looked over to his friend. Niall sat watching them intently, a smile hovering between his lips, his eyes far too bright for Harry’s liking.

Harry remained flushed and distracted the whole message, barely hearing Pastor James’ discourse on the warnings in Revelation. Fortunately, Niall became entranced with the mention of beasts and dragons in literal, predictory terms, and left off watching Harry and Louis beside him.

Louis fidgeted the whole time, constantly moving as always, and at one point accidently dropped his bulletin to the floor. When he bent down to reclaim it, he braced himself with a hand on Harry’s knee, and when he’d sat up again he left his hand there a moment longer.

Harry turned towards him slowly, his heartbeat molten. Louis met his stare, his eyes quite wide, his lips terse. He must not have realized he still touched Harry, because only when Harry’s eyes formed giant question marks did Louis jerk his hand up as if he’d been electrocuted and slowly pull his arm back to his lap.

The sudden absence of his touch felt cold and biting and painful, so Harry covered his knee with his own hand, mirroring Louis’ hold.

Louis stilled rather drastically for the remainder of the message, his gaze riveted on Pastor James’ prominent, plump belly.

When it had ended and they’d all three exited the classroom and made their way back up to the foyer for service, Niall surprised Harry by engulfing Louis in a hug.

“Really great to meet you, Tommo. Can I call you that? Everyone has to have a nickname, otherwise life’s no fun.”

Louis looked a little shocked. “Uh, sure. Nialler?”

Niall threw his head back and laughed. “Perfect. My mom would hate it.” He squeezed Louis tightly again. “Take care of this one for me, would you? He’s absolutely helpless. Pretty much a disaster most of the time. Utterly unsuited for the wider world.”

Niall winked at Harry as he let Louis go.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry murmured, going pink again.

Perhaps it was Harry’s imagination that Louis’ chest inflated and he stood a little straighter. “Don’t worry, Nialler, I’ve got Harry.”

Niall gave a knowing smile. “Ya, I think you do.”


	15. Maybe Velociraptors Don't Bite?

Niall left late Sunday evening, departing for his flight with many instructions to give his family all the Twist’s hugs and love. The house seemed very quiet on their return and Anne even commented that if they could harness Niall’s happiness it would possibly power the whole city.

The week leading up to the Creation Museum trip passed uneventfully. Harry saw Louis every day after school as usual, and on Friday Jay dropped Louis and his bags off at Harry’s house so they could carpool to Lakeside together. The bus Pastor James had rented to drive them all down had fairly large, comfortable seats, two to a row, so obviously Louis and Harry sat together. Ruining Harry’s plans of exclusive conversation with his best friend, Liam sat across from them, no one else sharing his row.

“Hey guys,” he said cheerily, shoving his duffle bag in the overhead.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis parroted, giving Liam a smile.

“Aren’t you guys excited? This is gonna be mega cool. I’ve heard their animatronics are amazing, and they’ve got tons of real fossils and stuff.”

Louis slowly nodded at him. “I have… ya, I’ve heard that too. We’re pumped.”

He turned into Harry’s ear the next moment though, whispering, “Animawhats?”

“The moving dinosaurs,” Harry whispered back, noting that Liam was trying his hardest to find a seatbelt amidst the plastic chair edges.

The trip down took about seven hours, and Harry counted every second of it as Liam continued to engage them in conversation without end. Louis handled it much better than Harry, who felt oddly upset at Liam for taking Louis’ attentions away from him. Though he recognized this as an irrational feeling, Harry felt it nonetheless, and fell languidly into a sort of semi-sulk.

Perhaps he would have been more amenable to the arrangement if Liam had discussed anything besides Biblical principle and the need to bring God back into public schools. He, like Ben, attended the large private Christian school in the next county, an expensive and exclusive place where most parents were doctors, lawyers, or both. Louis’ Christian school, on the other hand, was much smaller and less pricy, the state university to Liam’s Yale.

Since Harry alone attended a public school, he got roped into the discussion more than he’d have liked. He had to tell Liam about all his courses that touched on evolution, and more annoyingly, he had to reveal that yes, his parents were allowed to pull him from some classes, and yes, they pulled him from sex-ed classes. This sent Liam off on an entirely new tangent, one that he at least lowered his voice for, as there were girls sitting nearby.

“My dad says our generation is already irretrievably lost.” Liam shook his head. “The best we can do is get morals instituted in schools again and hope the next kids don’t learn all that garbage, you know?”

Louis took a moment to respond. “I mean. _You’re_ your generation, and you’re not lost. Adults are always looking at the bad, I think. We’re not so awful. I knew lots of kids in my old city, and Harry knows kids at his school that aren’t Christians, and they’re just as moral as us.”

“I’m sure they don’t murder people, obviously. But they think differently. They think it’s okay to sleep around and live with people before marriage and be gay.”

Louis tensed beside him and licked his lips, looking down to his shoes. “Right.”

“And that’s where, if we had the Bible back in schools, people would know God’s stance on these things right from the start. It would solve everything.”

Harry heard Louis swallow before he raised his head. “And you think all those things would just disappear then, if they taught about God?”

“I don’t know if they’d disappear, but people wouldn’t feel as free to like, participate. They’d know right from wrong. There’d be no confusion.” Liam nodded to himself, believing every word he uttered.

“Maybe.” Louis fixed his fringe. For no reason in particular Harry leaned subtly into his shoulder, pressing their arms together. Louis turned minutely and gave him a small smile.

“Are we almost there?” Harry asked, hoping Liam would take it on himself to find out. He did.

“We should be! I’ll go ask Pastor James.”

Liam stood from his seat and tottered towards the front of the bus as it jiggled along the highway.

“I’m tired,” Harry moaned, letting his head fall against Louis’ shoulder as well.

“Me too. It’s nearly eleven.” Louis pinched his cheek gently. “No conking out and leaving me alone with Liam, now.”

“Mmm. Why not. You seem to be handling it.”

“Just don’t, you sleepyhead.” Louis pinched his un-showing dimple again, then drew his thumb across is slowly. Harry couldn’t help but smile, creating a crater where Louis had grazed smooth skin moments before.

“There she is,” Louis whispered, barely audible, his voice scratchy like linen on wood.

Harry looked at him quizzically.

“Your left dimple. She’s a bit more shy than the other one.”

The ache attacked Harry, masticating on the bottom of his lungs.

“Oh,” he said, unable to meet Louis’ eyes.

Liam chose that moment to return to his seat.

“He says we’re only like five minutes from the church. I’ll admit I’m not excited about sleeping on the floor for two nights, but at least it’s free, you know?”

The church floor proved just as uncomfortable as Liam had predicted. The boys unrolled their sleeping bags in one classroom, the girls taking another farther down the hall. Four sets of parents chaperoned them, including Pastor James and his wife, making sure everyone used the appropriate bathrooms and didn’t sneak around.

Louis fluffed his sleeping bag out next to Harry’s, the two of them claiming the far corner of the room under the large, high window. The moon shone brightly, illuminating Louis face as Pastor James flipped off the lights. Harry snuggled down, rumpling his pillow up under his ear, rolling half on his stomach as he usually did.

“Night Lou,” he whispered, facing his best friend.

“Night, Haz,” Louis replied, likewise futzing with his pillow.

Harry dropped off almost instantly, genuinely exhausted. Pastor James had warned of an early morning.

*

Unsurprisingly, Pastor James bought McDonalds for breakfast, needing to cheaply feed thirty-plus people. After eating their egg mc-muffins, the chaperones and youth group piled once again into the bus and headed for the museum.

They arrived shortly. As they trundled off the bus towards the entrance, Harry spotted security guards standing stoically beside the museum’s manicured winter gardens. Louis gripped his arm tightly when Harry pointed out the large rifles held ready at the guards’ sides. 

“See what they have to deal with? They’ve gotten multiple threats from the atheists and homos,” Ben said in passing, noting Louis’ startled stare.

Harry felt something inside him flare, but he didn’t outwardly react save to clutch Louis closer and pull him on. 

The words “Prepare to Believe” were emblazoned on everything as they stood in line at the ticket counter. Pictures of dinosaurs hung everywhere, and large, colorful banners flanked the entranceway, looking like advertisements for a zoo.

They handed the staff lady their tickets and were soon pushed inside by the groups’ momentum. Harry couldn’t help but grin. To one side were walls of fossils and plaques, to the other, a life-size diorama of multi-ethnic children playing in a pool, a cluster of small raptors to their right.

“Cooooool,” Harry gaped, studying the sculpted dinosaurs intently. He’d always harbored secret ambitions of being a paleontologist.

“Haz,” Louis nudged him, “There were no kids in the Garden of Eden, right?”

Harry blinked. “Uh, nope, don’t think so.”

“So presumably that’s after the fall. After dinosaurs started eating humans.”

Harry looked at the diorama again, realizing the problem. “Oh. Maybe they tamed them?”

Louis shrugged. The group had entered the first passageway, a tunnel leading them back in time to the Garden of Eden itself.

They were greeted with yet another raptor, this time a large velociraptor that moved and roared and clenched its talons. Harry stood entranced before it, imagining what it would have been like to meet such a magnificent creature in the flesh.

“You’ve seen Jurassic Park, right?” Louis asked, hanging back with him as the rest of the group moved on.

“No,” Harry waved his arms in front of the display again, making it rear once more.

“I’m adding it to the list,” Louis said fondly. “Come on, Hazza, he’s repeated himself like ten times now.”

Harry let Louis tug him towards where a supposedly multi-ethnic Adam and Eve stood half immersed in a pool, lily pads carefully placed around them, Eve’s long hair doing the Lord’s work.

“They’re _naked_ ,” Louis whispered in Harry’s ear, his hand cupped around it, touching Harry’s curls.

“Shhhh,” Harry giggled, elbowing Louis in the side.

As they tried to catch up to their group, Louis kept pointing out obvious, very apparent aspects of the exhibits, then whispering them to Harry without a shred of subtlety. It became unbearable for Harry to keep a strait face and feign attention. 

“Harry,” Louis whispered again, bumping Harry’s hip with his and pointing towards a small theropod, “it’s another dinosaur!”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, removing Louis’ hand from his ear and holding it at their sides firmly. Louis would have found it a flimsy restraint, but he didn’t struggle. He relaxed pliantly into Harry’s grip.

“You see that?” Louis whispered again, louder this time as he didn’t have the use of his cupped hand. They were passing the serpent display where a large, red reptile, looking like a cross between a snake and a dragon, perched in a curl around a fake tree, it’s evil eyes staring at any onlooker, enticing them to take the apple-like fruit hanging above its head. 

“It’s tempting us, Harry, see?”

And Louis meant it to be funny, but once he’d uttered the words they both went deathly still and Harry realized his hand had gone clammy where his fingers entangled with Louis’.

Painfully self-conscious, Harry loosened his grasp and pulled his hand away, tucking his arms in a cross against his chest. They were more or less alone, the youth group having outpaced them into the next room. Louis touched his shoulder gently.

“You okay?” He asked, his blue eyes boring into Harry, questioning.

“I—“ Harry tried to find words but couldn’t, perhaps because he just didn’t know the answer to that question. 

“This old monster can’t hurt you, I’d be more scared of those velociraptors,” Louis said lightly, wrapping his arms around Harry from behind in a loose hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you, Haz.”

“You’re small,” Harry murmured without thinking, his senses not really working right because Louis had pressed against his back and slung his arms around Harry’s belly.

“Excuse me, Harold, size doesn’t matter. Look at Adam’s lily pad over there, and he’s the father of all humanity!”

Harry snorted despite himself, slapping his hands over his mouth to stop the peals of laughter he felt welling up.

“You’re awful,” Harry whispered when Louis gently let him go. 

“But you got it this time,” Louis chimed, smiling so big his eyes sparkled. “So really, I’m the best.”

Harry dimpled, the ache once more blooming inside him. “Hmmm. I’ll have to think about that.”

“What!?” Louis looked mock offended, his hand flying theatrically to his heart. “I’m wounded.”

Harry giggled at his dramatics. He couldn’t help himself. Louis was all show, all glitter, all brilliance.

“Alright, if you keep me safe from dinosaurs the entire day, then you’ll be the best.”

“It’s a deal!” Louis struck a pose. “I, Louis the valiant, promise on pain of death, or wait, no, on my sword, which is definitely bigger than Adams’, that—“

Harry lost himself in a fit of laughter just as Mrs. Morgan approached them. “Boys, keep up please, we’re all supposed to stick together.”

Harry and Louis hurried forwards, their lips pinched tight, trying to contain the laughter they so desperately wanted to release. Their hands bumped as they walked, and when Mrs. Morgan passed, Harry reached out ever so carefully and nudged along Louis’ knuckles. His hand opened, and Harry intertwined their fingers once more. They didn’t look at each other, or say anything, and as soon as they saw their group ahead, they both let go, but the ache inside Harry had spread halfway up his spine and it had started churning now, hot and painful, like a living creature inside him. He didn’t know how to tame it.

The next room contained a life-size recreation of Noah’s ark. Or rather, just a section of it. Wax figures representing Noah and his three sons worked away in rope rigging while sound effects made the entire space reverberate like a carpenter’s shop. At the far end of the room a display read, “Reclaiming the Rainbow.”

Pastor James had stopped in front of this and begun to read aloud. Harry and Louis drifted closer, winding up behind Liam and Ben. Harry could just make out the first line himself.

_The rainbow is God’s sacred covenant to his people promising never again to destroy the earth with a flood…_

Pastor James’ voice cut in on Harry’s thoughts.

“…The world has taken God’s sacred pact with us, a promise hung in the sky to remind us of his faithfulness, and turned it into a symbol of the very sin God so despised that he destroyed all of creation with a flood. This is a good reminder, as Christians, as high schoolers, as friends, that you should not be ashamed to reclaim God’s covenant of the rainbow for His glory.”

Harry’s ache nearly consumed him. He focused on keeping his breathing steady.

“It’s so disgusting how the homosexual agenda has stolen the rainbow. My dad says we should sue the whole lot of them for blasphemy,” Ben commented to Liam as Pastor James led the group on.

“Sue them, really? That seems a bit extreme. No one really owns it,” Liam said tentatively.

“God owns it,” Ben replied fiercely, causing Liam to stare back at him a bit startled.

Harry heard Louis’ breathing beside him, soft, shallow, matching his own.

“I always liked rainbows,” Louis said in a whisper.

Harry stared up at the display, ignoring the words and looking only at the painted colors. They were so bright and beautiful. “Gemma and I used to make them with the sprinkler during summer break. If it was sunny.”

Louis caught his eye and smiled, his lips pressed close together, his pupils wide.

“Harry, Louis, I’m not going to remind you again,” Mrs. Morgan called from around the next corner.

They hurried on.

 

The rest of the museum went quickly. They saw a section about the tower of Babble, passed through a terrifying hallway recounting the sins of the world (which argued that all of mankind needed Christ), and were accosted by many more fossil things and dinosaur displays. By the time they made it to the gift shop, evening had come, and despite their lunch of hotdogs in the museum cafeteria, Harry’s stomach growled. He and Louis looked at some of the rocks and games for sale, and Louis found the stuffed animals rack and proceeded to stick his hand into every single puppet, creating a voice and mannerism for each and making Harry’s cheeks hurt from laughter.

They all eventually loaded onto the bus, Louis letting Harry take the window seat as before. Louis proclaimed his exhaustion as they sat down, though the sun still balanced along the horizon.

“I could fall asleep right here,” he mumbled, crumpling up his sweatshirt and trying to stuff it behind his head. As the bus started moving it fell, plunking his skull against the seat back with a thud.

“Here,” Harry took the sweatshirt and balled it up against his shoulder. “That’ll work better. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

Louis gave him an odd look, but acquiesced, laying his head against Harry.

Harry couldn’t tell if Louis truly fell asleep, but his eyes slipped closed and his breath became soft and steady where it ghosted Harry’s cheek. Perhaps Louis really had drifted off, because his left arm slid from where he’d placed it in his lap and nudged against Harry’s thigh.

Harry tried to focus on the bare winter fields out the window, their remaining brown stalks illuminated strangely by the sinking sun, but the ache had started up worse than ever, and it burned lower now, pulsing between his legs.

Louis shifted slightly, nuzzling into his sweatshirt, his hair spiky and static sticky. Harry felt it happening before he could admit its reality; in a kind of surreal shock he looked down and watched as the zipper of his jeans pushed upwards. It hurt, and he felt clammy and flushed and guilty. He closed his eyes and tried to pray, but that did no good.

Louis slept against him until they reached the church. As the bus stopped Harry touched the back of Louis’ hand.

“Lou? We’re here.” Harry swallowed hard, hoping he could get up and grab his jacket from the storage wrack before his body betrayed him.

“Mmm?” Louis blinked up at him and his hand squeezed Harry’s leg where it rested. “Thanks Haz,” he said sleepily, his voice quiet.

Harry managed to hide behind his jacket until they were inside. He hastily excused himself to the bathroom, checking that the stall had locked three times before he opened his pants. Spitting on his hand, he reached down to grasp the cause of his pain. Guilt swallowed him as he pulled his body, because this time there’d been no forgotten dream. This time his arousal hadn’t dissipated with time; it had remained persistent and desperate and terrifying.

He came into the toilet, sick in his heart at the amount he spilled out, because somewhere deep inside himself, buried and secret and safe, he knew why.

Harry wiped up and tried to pee, holding back the tears that threatened to overcome him. Somehow he found the courage to zip his jeans and head back to the group, praying his acting skills were better than his self-control.

He remained very quiet throughout their dinner of sub sandwiches. If Louis noted his mood, he didn’t say anything, instead offering Harry warm smiles when they’d catch each other’s eye. Pastor James closed the evening with prayer, and soon the boys and girls were quartered off to their separate rooms.

When they’d all completed their toiletries and hunkered down for the night, Louis whispered very softly, “Night, Hazza, sleep well.”

Harry smiled weakly. “You too.”

But Harry couldn’t sleep. Perhaps an hour passed before he finally gave in and opened his eyes, the snoring around him drowning out his rumples. As he peeked out into the dark world, he noted that Louis’ sleeping bag lay illuminated in the window’s moonlight. Louis always slept on his back, sprawled out every which way like a starfish; the angles he cut under the confines of a sleeping bag were usually very amusing. Harry could just make out his toes sticking up under the bright orange fabric, and his knee crooked awkwardly to the side, and…

Harry’s breath congealed in his lungs, because Louis wasn’t asleep. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted but the material of his sleeping bag moved up and down directly above his hips, the soft scrape of cotton and polyester almost inaudible amidst the room’s snores. 

Harry lay stalk still, mesmerized, rolled up in sheaths of shame but unable to look away. He wanted to _know_. The fabric rose and fell faster and faster, and Harry watched in terrible, yearning fascination as Louis’ eyes scrunched tight and he bit down on his lip, his breathing heavy but quiet. The sleeping bag then fell still.

Harry closed his eyes quickly, suddenly terrified Louis would turn his head and see him watching. He needn’t have worried. When he peeked again, Louis had spread out like an octopus and his face had relaxed into tensionless sleep.

As he’d watched Harry had grown hard once more, but this time he pinned his hands under his pillow and refused to believe that what he’d just seen had contributed to the pulsing against his thigh. He didn’t let himself think about what it meant, or why it mattered, because the moon had cast everything in silver and his eyes saw spots as they strained to see in the dark and the world felt half like a dream, and anything could happen in dreams, anything at all, and you’d forget it in the morning. This would be the same.

But when morning came, he remembered it all.


	16. Does It Show?

Monday arrived before Harry knew it. He tried desperately to push the whole stupid trip from his mind, but it stayed resolutely stuck there, making him sulky and more withdrawn than usual. Even around Louis he struggled to be his normal, cheerful self. At school, though, he didn’t care enough to try.

Finally, on Thursday, Zayn smiled at him from across the table and asked, “Everything okay, Harry? You’ve been very quiet.”

Harry found this a bit surprising coming from Zayn, who hardly ever strung two words together.

“Yep. Everything’s fine,” Harry lied.

“If you say so,” Zayn shrugged, returning to his picture of a dazzling fay court in the midst of a ball.

“What’d you mean?” Harry took the bait, slightly annoyed at how well the other boy could read him, slightly hopeful that someone could lift the burden squashing his chest.

“Just, you’ve been sitting there chewing your lip since period started. You haven’t got your project out or anything, and you’ve been like that all week,” Zayn said without looking up.

“Right. I just forgot is all,” Harry mumbled, making to get his project from the cabinet.

“You’ve gotten twitterpated, haven’t you?” Zayn said, a sly grin playing around his eyes.

Harry froze, his face crimsoning spectacularly.

“Thought so,” Zayn said in delight, “I’ve seen this kind of thing before.”

Harry fought the urge to scream.

“That’s… not true. That’s ridiculous.” His words came out in a rush, jumbled and frantic. He hurried to the cabinet and grabbed his things, returning with a lump in his throat.

Zayn gave no verbal response, just glanced up at Harry with kind eyes, eyes Harry knew his lying self didn’t deserve.

They worked in silence until the period was half over, the rest of the class chattering dully around them. Mr. Sheeland had been preoccupied with the senior seminar students for weeks, letting the lowerclassmen to their own devices. Harry welcomed this respite from oversight, particularly in his present mood.

Harry felt paper scrape against his arm. Zayn had slid a folded note there, his gaze meeting Harry’s for only a moment before he returned to his drawing.

Harry dropped the note to his lap and opened it.

_Is it a boy_?

He choked on air, panic rising in his chest so quickly that it squeezed tears to his eyes. His body became a stinging, hot mess, and he knew he was going to be sick. Harry ran from the classroom, the note crumpled in his fist as he stumbled down the empty hall to the boy’s bathroom; he barely made it inside the first stall before he started puking, his body heaving horribly, the acrid burn of acid singing his nose and throat.

He hurled until he had nothing left to empty and even then his body protested at stopping. Methodically, with shaking fingers, Harry wiped his mouth and chin, then the toilet seat, flushing the mess and inhaling a ragged breath.

That’s when the tears came. He stumbled out of the stall to the sink and turned on the hot water, splashing his face as he sobbed.

When a hand touched his shoulder, he didn’t jump. He knew.

“Here,” Zayn turned the tap off and stood Harry up, offering him the cluster of paper towels in his hand.

Harry couldn’t move, though, so Zayn wiped his face gently, drying off the tears and snot and water dripping down his chin.

“You d-d-don’t have t-t-to—“ Harry stuttered, still crying, but Zayn shushed him.

“I should have asked when we were alone, Harry, I’m sorry. But it’s okay, ya?”

“It’s n-n-not okay,” Harry blubbered, his face positively burning.

“Yes, it is. Trust me. It’s normal, I promise. You know, I had a boyfriend last year. Remember Damian?”

Harry raised his eyes to look at Zayn. “You did?” He breathed.

“You didn’t really think I was strait, did you?” Zayn didn’t say it accusatorily, but with a gentle smile. He tucked a curl behind Harry’s ear and patted his shoulder.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me anything. But like… just know it’s okay, Harry. It really is. And if you ever want to, you know, tell me stuff, you can. I’d listen, and I’d understand.”

Harry didn’t respond, but his face relaxed a bit and he nearly stopped crying.

“Let’s get back to class. Here, I brought you a hall pass.”

 

After Thursday, Harry’s mood gradually began to lift. He didn’t feel any less guilty, but he learned to coral it somehow, to stuff it away in a corner and get on with things. By the time Saturday rolled around, and Louis came over to spend the day with him, he felt considerably perkier. He suspected he wasn’t quite back to his normal self, though, because Louis snuck in a pile of old CDs and waited until Anne and Robin left on errands to pull them out, clearly intent on cheering Harry up.

“Where’d you get all these?” Harry asked, flipping through the stack.

“Around, you know. Mostly at Goodwill for a buck.” Louis plucked one from his hands and opened it, popping it in the player and clicking through tracks.

“You ever heard Brittany?”

Harry made a face. “Spears? At the grocery store, I think.”

“Pshhh, she’s wasted on grocery stores.” Louis pressed play and a loud beat filled the room.

“Lou, if my mom comes home,” Harry protested, but Louis had assumed a stance in the center of the rug, his hands on his waist, his head thrown back. He started to jive his hips along to the bass line, and as Brittany’s sang, “I think I did it again,” Louis lip-synced along.

Harry’s jaw slackened as he watched Louis move, his arms punctuating the words as his wrists snapped sharply. He twirled in place and started mouthing the lyrics at Harry, his face acting out every phrase of the song; when he came to “I’m not that innocent,” he thrust his hips forward and did a wave up his body, a gyrated roll that started at his knees and ended at the tips of his fingers, stretched high above his head.

Harry never wanted to look away; he decided that Brittany could sing forever if it meant he got to watch Louis dance for all eternity. Louis moved through space and time, yet somehow defied both, making the very air around him seem thicker than water, bending the light to his will as if it had been made to refract off his sharp angles and soft curves. Harry had gone dizzy and weak, an astronaut experiencing thrust for the first time.

_He’s beautiful_.

The statement slipped into Harry’s head unbidden and he jolted at its arrival. The truth of it mingled with Harry’s corralled guilt; no one thought such things about their best friend. Other synonyms for the word began to brush into Harry’s consciousness and he let them cycle there like a tide: magical, stunning, mesmerizing, perfect.

As the song ended, Louis slid to his knees, panting spectacularly and looking up at Harry with earnest eyes. 

“Didn’t you wanna dance, Hazza? Come on, I’ll play it again.”

Louis took his hands and dragged him up, hitting the back button on the CD player. But when the song began once more, Harry remained boneless and limp, absolutely useless and unable to stop staring at the delicate sheen of sweat coating Louis’ cheeks.

“Haz?” Louis poked him, his expression worried.

“M’fine, sorry, I’m just… not a good dancer.” Though his excuse sounded pitiful, what other answer could he give? For the first time in his life he’d become debilitated by a realization.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to,” Louis said, pressing pause and pulling Harry down to sit with him on the rug.

“You feeling okay lately?” Louis asked, holding up a hand to Harry’s forehead, sliding it under his curly bangs as he took his temperature.

“Think so, ya,” Harry fudged, trying to pull himself together. He ultimately decided further excuses would just worry Louis more than the truth, so he told half of it. “I just thought of something, that’s all. I can tell you but… it’s a bit weird.” Harry already felt his cheeks turning pink.

Louis’ eyebrows rose but he smiled encouragingly. “You can tell me anything, Harry.”

“It’s like, really weird. Super… strange.”

“Stranger than usual?” Louis teased, pushing lightly at his dimple.

“Um,” Harry giggled. “Maybe. You’re really beautiful, Lou.”

Once the words had left his mouth to ricochet around the room, Harry wished he could take them back. Their presence changed something in the air, and he felt the thickness of it settling around them. Louis didn’t say anything for the longest time, letting a throbbing silence echo into Harry’s eardrums. Harry stared down at his socks, avoiding Louis’ eyes, shame and embarrassment eating him up. 

“Hey,” Louis finally said, reaching out to gently lift Harry’s chin, forcing him to look up. “You really think so?”

Harry squirmed, but he nodded, mortifyingly sure his skin had gone deep crimson.

“S’not weird, it’s nice.” Louis pulled him in for a soft hug. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Mmm,” Harry managed to get out, even though his pulse had started thrumming like a jet engine.

“You know,” Louis’ voice grew a bit softer. “I think you’re really lovely too.”

Harry half coughed, half laughed into Louis’ shoulder.

“I’m serious, you goose,” Louis giggled, pinching at Harry’s side.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry batted at his hands, a grin overriding his embarrassment.

Louis looked for a moment like he would say more, but then he blinked, licked his lips, and sprang up, half slipping as he raced out Harry’s bedroom door. 

“Last one to the Oreos has to eat them with NO MILK!” He shouted, already halfway down the stairs.

Harry lurched to his feet, wondering at Louis’ sudden craving for Oreos, but more distracted by how, despite everything, he felt more happy than guilty. The ache still throbbed, of course, but he could deal with that. Feeling lighter than he had in days, he hurried down the stairs.


	17. Monsters And Wigs Make Good Excuses

Mark’s uncle passed away suddenly in the first week of March and Jay planned to leave Louis in charge of the girls for two days as she and Mark attended the funeral. When Harry told this to Anne, who feared Louis’ cooking nearly as much as Harry, his mother decided immediately that all five Tomlinson kids would come to stay.

Anne made up Gemma’s room for the girls and unpacked a sleeping bag so Louis could crash on Harry’s floor as he normally did. The evening passed with several board games and Anne’s special hot chocolate, and soon, despite the girls’ pleas, Louis ushered his sisters off to bed.

“Did you have to tuck them all in?” Harry asked as Louis reappeared in the living room.

“First, I had to check under the bed, in the closet, behind the curtains, and beneath the dresser. _Then_ I had to tuck them in and give each one a kiss and sing the twins the ‘I love you’ song. I’m exhausted.”

Louis feigned martyrdom, but Harry knew he loved every second of it.

“So. For movie options we have…” Harry gave a drum roll on his knee, “Bringing up Baby, Sahara, or The Spiral Staircase.”

Louis took the three DVDs from Harry. “They’re all back and white?”

“Yep. Trust me, these are the best of the bunch.”

“Give me hints.” Louis settled into the couch.

“Okay, Sahara is a World War II movie with Humphrey Bogart. It’s pretty good. This one,” he pointed to _Bringing up Baby_ , “Is a comedy about this lady who owns a leopard? It’s funny, trust me. And this one is actually a bit scary, it’s a murder mystery thriller thing.”

“Oh then lets do that. Definitely that. How scary could a black and white movie be, anyway?”

Louis soon found out.

Later, as they lay trying to fall sleep, Louis’ voice called out in the darkness,

“Harry?”

“Mmm?” Harry rolled over, training his ears on Louis.

“That horrid melody is stuck in my head.”

Harry heard the sleeping bag rumple.

“So, if I sent you down the staircase alone right now…” Harry teased, smiling into the dark.

“Nooooo stop,” Louis moaned, and Harry heard more rumpling. “That movie was somehow scarier _because_ it was black and white. It keeps replaying in my head over and over. Harry, save me,” Louis pleaded, sounding absolutely pitiful.

“Nothing to save you from Lou, unless you want me to valiantly guard you against my closet and check under the bed.”

“Hazza,” Louis whined, and Harry could just imagine the pout on his face.

“Do you think you can go to sleep?” Harry asked, the ache starting to stir.

“Don’t know. Haven’t had any luck so far.”

Harry took in a short breath. “You can sleep up here, if you want,” he offered, the ache blossoming fully inside him.

“Can I?” Louis immediately scrambled out of his sleeping bag and moments later Harry felt a warm brush against his arm.

“Sure,” Harry said as nonchalantly as he could, scooting over and peeling back his blankets. 

Louis climbed in, facing Harry.

“Thanks, Haz. Don’t tell anyone I’m terrified of black and white murder mysteries.”

“I promise I won’t. But it will be a strong temptation.”

Louis reached under the covers and tweaked his nipple. Harry screeched and flapped at Louis’ hand, squirming away in giggle fits.

“You’d better be careful, Harold, I remember where all four of them are,” Louis said menacingly, his fingertips lingering against Harry’s chest just long enough to give a ghost of a tickle before he pulled them away.

“You wouldn’t abuse my nipple trust, would you?” Harry’s asked in mock offense.

“Me? Never. Not unless I really, really needed to. Like now.”

Harry could feel his smile in the dark.

“Are you warm enough, Lou? I can grab another blanket.”

“M’a bit cold, I guess,” Louis yawned, pulling Harry’s comforter tighter around him. “But we can just do like foxes.”

“Foxes?” Harry yawned too. It was catchy.

“Ya. They just cuddle really close together.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “They do?”

“Sure they do. I’ve seen pictures. Just like this.”

Louis squirmed closer to Harry, then reached out and drew him into what seemed like a hug, nudging them together until their torsos were touching and Harry could hear the thick, quick beat of his heart. Harry felt Louis’ bare toes skate across his legs until their lower limbs were interwoven, pressed close like pretzels.

“Only…” Louis twined his arms around Harry, their mingling complete, “Foxes have these big, bushy tails. But your hair will do.”

Louis sighed into him and went still, just his gentle nose-breaths filling the air.

Harry hadn’t wrapped his arms anywhere. He lay stuck, frozen into statuesque stillness; if he dared inhale Louis’ scent he would dissolve. Every inch of him tingled, every inch of him itched and burned and wanted to cuddle even closer to the sun, and he didn’t care if his wax wings melted off.

“Harry, you’re not breathing,” Louis whispered, his fingers catching against Harry’s skin.

Harry coughed, air rushing to his lungs in gulps. “S-sorry,” he managed to choke out, and he half hoped Louis would pull away a little bit, but he didn’t, he stayed tangled in Harry’s body.

“I’m flattered and all,” Louis said, a soft, teasing tone to his voice, “But you should breathe. It’s important for living and stuff.”

Harry felt his face redden in the darkness. “Huh?” he asked, panic coursing through him.

“M’flattered I take your breath away, Hazza, but you should try to breathe. Even if I am a magnificent specimen of a human. In fact, that museum should have modeled Adam on me, now I think about it.”

Harry giggled despite his embarrassment, and that’s all the encouragement Louis needed to pull them even closer together so that he could lay his forehead against Harry’s collarbone.

“Night, Haz,” he whispered.

Louis’ words against his skin stunned him to calm stillness, a pond moments before a rainstorm.

“Night, Lou,” Harry answered eventually, closing his eyes and praying for quick sleep.

 

When Harry awoke the next morning he had flipped over and now faced the opposite wall. Arms were around him, and a warmness pressed to his back.

It took him a moment to remember the events of the previous night. When he did, he half wished he could go back to sleep, because being in Louis’ arms felt so incredibly good, a type of good Harry had never known before. Unlike the embraces of his family, Louis gave safety to his heart. Louis’ arms were the flicker of a candle in a dark room or a roof during a thunderstorm or a potholder when you grasped a hot pan of cookies.

Harry’s squirmed back into the embrace, his mind still sleep addled, subconsciously seeking more of the feeling, almost being a bit greedy about it. But Louis drew back when Harry moved his hips closer, obviously already awake.

“Finally up, Harold?” Louis said, his voice scratchy with morning. “Thought I’d be on my own for cereal.”

He tumbled out of the bed just as Harry turned over to rub the sleep from his eyes. Harry’s face must have shown his confusion at Louis’ hasty exit because Louis explained, 

“I’m starving, mind if we hurry up?”

Louis grabbed his backpack of clothes before Harry could even flop his legs over the bedside, hiking it up and covering his hips as he quietly bolted from the room.

Harry blinked, the morning sun slating between his window shades in rods of yellow. He wondered.

He knew. He looked down between his own legs where he had chubbed up in his boxers, and he felt the ache rush to fill him.

Harry stood and pulled on his jeans, throwing a sweatshirt over his head. Desperate curiosity ate at him, and he found himself timing how long he awaited Louis’ return. Four minutes. He rested his head in his hands, tugging on curls that now felt sweat damp and crinkly.

“Harry? Breakfast?” Louis poked his head around the door. “The girls are up too.”

“Mmmhmm,” Harry nodded, inhaling deeply as he stood and met Louis in the hallway. “I call the rest of the cocoa puffs though, so don’t get any ideas.”

Louis pouted at him, crossing his arms, his glasses slightly askew on his face. Harry was reaching up to fix them before he could properly think about it, his fingers grazing Louis’ temples as he did so.

“I, um, had mom buy you Golden Grahams when we went to the store,” Harry muttered, his hands moving away from Louis’ face much slower than they’d moved towards. Louis offered him a prim smile, his eyes shining.

“Thanks, Haz. They’re my favorite.”

“I know.”

Harry followed him down the stairs, not at all hungry for breakfast, consumed with hunger for something quite different.

*

By the calendar start of spring, temperatures had warmed considerably. Crocuses were shooting up in Anne’s garden and robins had appeared in the bare trees again. Most of the snow had melted, and what remained loitered dirty and gray-looking under shady garages and along sidewalks where it had been piled many feet high.

Harry suggested they take a bike ride to the park, since the weather seemed conducive. He regretted this idea as he biked to Louis’ house, having forgotten about the wind chill; it might have been fifty degrees walking, but it felt much more like forty when speeding through the air.

Nevertheless, he parked his bike on the side of Louis’ driveway, rubbing his hands together quickly to dissipate the chill, bracing himself for the next installment. He walked up to the stoop and knocked twice before Fizzy answered.

“We’re late, Harry,” she said, halfway through pulling a fluffy coat over her pink tutu. “Mom says Louis can’t go yet ‘cause he’s downstairs.”

She pushed past him and ran to the car, where Harry now saw Jay sat waiting. She waved to him. The twins tumbled down the stairs and out the door soon after, yelling hello and goodbye to Harry in one breath.

Slipping off his shoes, Harry made his way inside, heading towards the basement. Lottie nearly bumped into him as she flailed up the stairs. She too wore a bright pink tutu underneath her winter coat, and had been trying to pull on boots as she hopped up the last two basement steps.

“Lots this is a DISASTER what do you think I am, your housemaid?” Louis yelled up the stairs at his sister.

“Sorry!” Lottie’s high voice called back down. She flashed Harry a grin before likewise running towards the door. Harry descended cautiously, unsure exactly what he’d find. 

“Look at this,” Louis complained with an eye roll, shifting his hands to his hips and cocking one leg out slightly as Harry appeared. “The girls have dance class down at the Y and I’m supposed to just clean all this up. Thanks, mom.” 

“I didn’t think they were this messy,” Harry said, focusing on the strewn floor instead of Louis’ cocked leg.

“Well, there’s nothing for it, grab a bin if you don’t mind,” Louis said, motioning to the clear plastic containers that stood almost completely empty against the wall, their normal contents scattered along the ground.

The boys picked up Barbie’s and plastic horses and My Little Ponies and Polly Pockets and two sets of fairy princess tea party dishes. It didn’t take them long. As they pushed the filled bins back against the wall, Louis smiled.

“Phew. Takes less time with you here, Harold.”

“Double trouble,” Harry said lamely, dimpling a bit.

“You know,” Louis said, moving towards a different, unopened bin, “Since we’re here, I’ve always wondered…” he opened the box and stood with his back to Harry, rifling through it. “Now, I want your honest opinion, and don’t be nice, because I’ve been seriously considering frosted tips. So. How am I as a blonde?”

He turned around wearing a ridiculous yellow yarn wig, its stringy strands dangling like spaghetti over his eyes and down to his shoulders. Harry lost it.

Louis strutted around like a prim princess as Harry curled in on his stomach, giggling uncontrollably. Louis stopped before him, dramatically clutching his hand to his chest.

“Are you laughing? At ME!? Alas, my pride is wounded! You have injured my ego and I shall SWOON!”

Louis tottered forward, then spilled backwards into Harry’s arms. As Harry caught him the laugh slid from his lips, replaced with some other wordless excitement.

“You’re a horrible damsel,” Harry said, still clutching Louis tightly.

“Alright then,” Louis squirmed upright, “Then let’s see how well you do, Harold.”

He removed the wig from his head and plunked it down atop Harry’s, straitening it out so the yarn matched the normal trajectory of Harry’s brown curls.

“Hold on, I’m not convinced enough.”

Harry stayed put as Louis dug through the bin and returned with several garments slung over his arms.

“Now, don’t move,” he instructed.

Louis tugged a large, garish flower print skirt over Harry’s head, shimmying it down on top of his jeans. He then wrapped a very glittery shawl around Harry’s neck, finishing the look with a plastic tiara that he stuck down into the wig.

“There. Now you’re a convincing damsel.”

Louis’ eyes were bright, sparkling things, full and brimming with such brilliant blue, and Harry wanted to enjoy the joke, to smile, to laugh, but he couldn’t. He felt warm and flushed, and the ache throbbed terribly, and above all he felt beautiful, and that was new, and it scared him.

“Um,” he started, because he had to say something, Louis’ eyes were boring into him. He knew his cheeks were pink. He bit his lip. “M’kinda hot, actually.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled up and his laugh showed his sharp teeth, brilliantly white against his flushed lips. “You know, you kinda are.”

Harry paled. “No! No I mean, it’s—“

“Shhh, don’t exert yourself, my lady, you may faint from blushing.” Louis took his hand before Harry could think of a response. He then slipped his other arm around Harry’s waist and pulled him closer, humming a ridiculous tune.

“As a proper damsel, you must dance with _all_ the eligible bachelors, my lady, that’s how fairy tales work. And I should know. I’ve watched them all around a billion times. See, you start off like this,” Louis twirled him around, and Harry went, pliant in his arms, “And then! When you’ve danced with multitudes of dashing princes and realized they’re all awful jerks, you see the handsome knight of your forest daydreams, and you start to dance with him, and he draws you closer, see,” Louis pulled Harry towards him, “And then…”

Louis’ voice trailed off. He held Harry close, their hearatbeats touching.

“And then?” Harry whispered, the yarn wig brushing Louis’ cheek.

A thick silence stretched between them, and the goofy smile faded from Louis’ lips.

“Then they kiss, I think,” Louis murmured, his fingertips pressing into Harry’s side.

Louis’ lips were so close. His warm breath smelled of peanut butter and jelly.

“Okay,” Harry said, moving centimeters nearer, his pulse thrumming in his temples.

For just a moment their lips touched together like bits of ripe fruit. The ache snapped up Harry’s spine and into his brain, making the world spin before his eyes. He’d never felt more alive, though. 

Louis backed away quickly, breathless. “Race you to the bikes!” He yelped out, his voice cracking in two places as he spoke. In his rush he nearly stumbled up the stairs, but despite his efforts Harry had seen his face go bright red.

Dutifully, Harry peeled off the dress-up clothes and replaced them in their bin, but his body seemed to be floating, not moving of it’s own accord, weightless in a pocket of space that defied linear time.

When he finally made it from the basement to the driveway he found his best friend waiting for him with a bright smile.

“Ready, Haz?”

Harry nodded, frantic, dizzy, under some kind of spell.


	18. Camptown (Heart) Races

Being near Louis had become a necessity in Harry’s life. On the rare day they couldn’t see each other, they would call on the phone, chatting about nothing significant, just content to hear each other’s voices. So when Harry learned that Jay and Mark planned on sending Louis to Lakeside’s five-day-long youth group camp for spring break, he nearly begged his parents to let him go too.

Spring break wasn’t much fun in the north (owing to the fact that it never usually got around to _being_ spring until late May) and knowing this Lakeside annually rented out a camping compound in northern Missouri where they held a week long youth retreat called “Spring Towards the Lord.” Harry had always avoided going like the plague, but now…

In the first week of April he found himself once again on a bus next to Louis Tomlinson. In the week or so since the basement incident, they’d both been a little freer with their touches, Louis grabbing his hand or ruffling his curls at every opportunity, Harry touching Louis’ shoulder or leaning against him whenever he could.

They’d started out in this way on the bus, Harry curled into Louis’ side as fields of winter nothingness passed by out the window, but annoyingly, Ben and Randy—one of his pastel wearing crew—came to sit across from them. Louis glanced at Harry and bit his lip and Harry somehow understood that they needed to move apart. He hated it, but he complied, leaning back into his own seat.

Ages later they pulled into a campground that looked quite different from the gray bareness they’d left hours before. The trees were sprouting with green and grass had covered over the winter mud. The temperature hung in the mid seventies, and the air smelled of growing things. 

Few enough kids had come that five cabins sufficed for both the boys and girls of Lakeside. He and Louis were placed with Liam, Ben, Randy, and Aiden, the other five boys situated directly next door. Harry wished they could switch, as he really didn’t want to sleep anywhere near Ben, but he had no real reason to protest, so he kept quiet.

Before Harry had left, as he’d been packing for the trip, Anne had wandered into his room and crossed her arms at the contents of his messy dresser.

“It’s time, Harry. You haven’t worn some of those clothes for year, and they won’t even fit you now. I’ll go through that mess while you’re gone and donate a bag or two, Purple Heart just called me this morning. Perfect timing.”

Harry had nodded at her sagely, thanking her in advance, but as soon as she’d walked back down the hall he frantically searched his sock drawer until he found the gold thong. He was faced with the same dilemma that the object had originally caused; he couldn’t throw it away, nor could he now hide it in his drawer, and hiding it elsewhere in his room seemed very like tempting fate. Thinking up a temporary—but brilliant—solution, Harry had shoved it in his camp-bound duffle. He’d also stuffed Azzy in the bag, along with shorts, ample t-shirts, jeans, and several pairs of socks and boxers.

When at last they all piled inside the cabin, tired from the trip and anticipating their first campfire-inspired dinner, Harry immediately unpacked what he could onto his bunk. He unrolled his sleeping bag and stuffed his pajamas under the pillow, but just as he began to situate Azzy under the covers, Louis called to him.

“Haz, have you seen my glasses case?”

Harry hurried to Louis’ bunk, directly underneath Liam’s. “No, I haven’t. You don’t think it fell out on the bus?”

Louis bit his lip. “Might have. I should go check, probably.”

He dashed from the cabin, taking off at a run towards where they’d been dropped off.

Harry was turning to resume what he’d been doing when he heard Ben’s chortle. He’d been ignoring the chatter of the other boys, but this cut through. With a horrific shock, Harry saw that Ben held Azzy aloft, shaking the mangy creature as a few other boys pointed to it and laughed.

“Harry, what is this thing?”

“I think it’s a lion,” Liam said helpfully, staring quizzically at the stuffed animal.

“He’s really old,” Harry said shakily, his voice squeaking up a good octave above his normal range, but he tried to smile. He could take being teased. “Don’t damage him.”

“’Save me Harry, save me, I’ve been taken hostage!’” Ben laughed and made the little lion cover his face with his paws. Harry’s stomach dropped.

“Give him back Ben, please.” Harry didn’t try to smile anymore. Ben raised the lion above his head with one hand, taunting. At this moment Louis walked back into the cabin.

“Maybe he has some friends here to keep him company!” Ben chortled as he tossed the toy to Aiden, who caught it rather sheepishly, glancing apologetically at Harry. Ben proceeded to rifle through Harry’s duffle.

“Let’s see… shorts, shirts… wait, is this a letter from your mommy, Harry? Hold on! What’s this?”

Harry felt Louis coming to his side just as the air closed in around him and his face went white. Spots swam in front of his eyes.

Ben held aloft the gold thong.

“Is this a _thong_?” Ben wrinkled his nose, elated with his discovery. He pinched the gold fabric between his thumb and forefinger and wiggled it, making the light bounce off the shiny fabric in wavy crinkles.

“I… it’s…” Harry couldn’t speak, much less form words. He gulped at air like a bagged fish. The cabin had gone very silent.

He felt Louis’ hand gently slid up to cup his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, effectively anchoring Harry to some semblance of calm.

“That’s girls’ underwear, isn’t it? Did you get it from a girl?” Liam asked, eyes wide. As always, he saw what was in front of him and yet missed absolutely everything. Harry almost breathed a sigh of relief, though, as Liam’s suspicions were a lesser sin than the reality. 

“No!” Harry blurted, finally finding his voice, amazed he could defend this new narrative, “I never…”

“You idiot, this isn’t a girl’s thong, is it, Harry?” Ben smirked, and Harry felt nausea descend on his stomach like a swooping harpy. He briefly considered just bursting into tears, but then Louis sprang to the middle of the room.

“You’re such a radical kill-joy, Ben, gosh. _I_ put it in Harry’s bag. It was supposed to be funny.” Louis reached out and grabbed the thong from Ben, balling it up in his hand and glaring at the other boy icily. “Some people are so heavenly minded they’re no earthy fun,” Louis sing-songed, rolling his eyes and letting a smirk play about his lips as he looked around at the other boys.

His charisma overcame Ben’s policing, and soon Harry heard Liam let out a soft titter. The other boys followed suit, and just like that, Ben became red-faced and sulky.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Ben snapped.

“Didn’t expect you to, you’re not omnipotent yet. Maybe give it a couple thousand years.”

Louis’ reply sent the cabin into a fit of guffaws as Ben stalked to his bunk, painted brightly as an overeager zealot.

Harry sucked in a breath. His terror still hadn’t ebbed away, but he could feel the blood rushing back to his head. He thought the episode over, but then Louis continued.

“Sorry for making you upset, Harry, I just thought it’d be a funny prank.”

Stunned by Louis’ concocted apology, Harry failed to see him looking pointedly over at Ben’s bunk. The other boys’ stares followed.

“Uh—I—sorry. I didn’t know it was all a joke. Sorry, Harry.” Ben fiddled with his sleeping bag, not looking up.

Harry didn’t respond, just stared around the cabin, amazed at how Louis had shifted the momentum. Cutting his appreciation short, Pastor James chose that moment to walk through the door. 

“Boys, you were supposed to be lined up for food five minutes ago, let’s get a move on! Dinner waits for no man!” He swung the door fully open and motioned them outside.

Scampering ensued, and perhaps because Harry kept moving in slow motion, the other boys rushed out, leaving him alone. Alone save for Louis.

“You okay?”

Harry had plunked down on his bunk. Louis stood above him, his expression brimming with concern. 

“Lou.” He wrapped his arms around Louis’ legs and buried his face there too, tears stinging his eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, Hazza. Look, see?”

Louis pushed Azzy into his chest, but this only caused Harry to actually begin crying. He clutched the stuffed animal tightly as Louis sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders.

“Why…” Harry mumbled, hardly a question, but Louis knew.

“’Cause they wouldn’t have understood. It had to be a joke, Harry, that’s the only way they’d let it go.” Louis transferred the rumpled thong to Harry’s lap, then thumbed over his cheekbones, wiping away his tears.

“You… you don’t care that it’s…” Harry swallowed hard. His next words were barely whispered. “You don’t care that it’s not a joke?”

Louis grew very still. He took Harry’s hands in his.

“I don’t care at all, Harry. Not one bit.” He gave Harry’s fingers a squeeze and then stood, still holding on, pulling Harry up off the bunk as well. “Let’s go eat some awful hotdogs, I’m starving.”

Harry went, wiping his eyes, letting Louis clutch his fingers until they were well out of the cabin, until they had nearly caught up with the other boys, at which point Louis dropped his hand and smiled reassuringly at Harry from under his fringe. Harry smiled back.

*  
By the next day Harry had mostly recovered from the episode. Ben had been extra nice, which Harry appreciated, but he’d have been just as pleased if the older boy had gone back to ignoring his existence.

They did all manner of camp related activities between morning devotionals and the evening ‘revival style’ bonfire meeting. After he’d closed the night with prayer, Pastor James announced that for anyone who wanted to participate, they were organizing a game of Ghost in the Graveyard (only Lakeside had renamed it ‘ Protestant in the Inquisition’).

The sky hadn’t grown completely dark yet—the dusky air still held tints of pink and orange—but the group decided to start anyway. The night would turn black soon enough. 

Randy volunteered to be the first inquisitor. The rest of the players scattered from the chosen home base, a picnic table near the edge of the fire pit, as Randy counted down from one hundred. In the shuffle of people and thunder of feet Harry briefly lost track of Louis, finally spotting him near the forest edge as the hoard of bodies thinned. He hurried to catch up, because of course they would hide together.

Harry tripped over a mossy stump and immediately cracked three branches upon entering the wood, but stealth took a backseat to desperation; Louis had disappeared into the trees, and darkness would set in shortly. He noted that the fireflies were starting to come out and flit around like little stars ejected from the sky.

“Pssst!”

Harry heard the call from his right, seemingly from a large oak tree. As he peered into its branches he finally spotted Louis sitting on a wide limb about twelve feet above the ground.

“No fair,” Harry grumbled, shaking his head but smiling up at Louis.

“Oh don’t moan, I saved room for you too, Harold.” Louis slid down two limbs and held out his hand. 

“I don’t like heights, Lou,” Harry reminded him, his stomach already going queasy. The limb seemed extremely high…

“I’ll help you up, ‘kay? Trust me.” Louis looked so hopeful. Harry gave in, figuring he’d run out of time to find a good hiding spot anyway.

He climbed to the first limb with Louis’ aid, then managed somehow to reach the second and finally, third. Harry’s limbs were shaking by the time he settled in along the wide wood. Louis sat perched like a contented bluebird, utterly delighted, but Harry felt more like a disgruntled penguin. They could see the sunset better, though, and as Harry watched the rosy clouds glow gold, he felt more at ease. 

Until Louis began bouncing.

“LOU!” Harry squeaked, his knees clenching up as his hands fought for purchase on the oak trunk.

“Come on, Haz, have a bit of fun. It’s like a roller coaster ride!” Louis continued to bounce, grinning like he’d won the moon yet simultaneously pouting for Harry to let him have his way.

“You’re dangerous,” Harry declared, giggling and allowing his grip to loosen just a little, because maybe he’d risk dying if he got to watch Louis tempt fate and dance around that thread-cutting scissor like a temptress absorbed in her trickery.

Louis basked in the description. “Do you think so? I can be more dangerous,” he offered, scooting sideways along the dipping limb and stopping where it began to taper and split into smaller branches.

“LOU!” Harry yelped for the second time, reaching out to grab him, his heart leaping into his windpipe.

“Relax, Hazza, see? This is even more springy.” He began to bounce again, this time causing a debris shower on the ground below.

“Ugh, I can’t watch,” Harry covered his eyes with one hand.

“You’re missing the show!”

Harry felt the bouncing increase. He bit his lip nervously.

“Lou, pleeeeeease,” he drew out, his breath becoming shallower, “I don’t want you to fall.” And that part was very true. A primal fear had surged in Harry’s stomach.

The bouncing stopped. Harry peeked through his fingers and saw Louis hesitantly inching back up towards him.

“Hey, Harry? You’re white as a sheet.” Louis scooched til their thighs touched together. “Haz?”

Maybe Harry needed an excuse. Maybe he just needed to reassure himself of Louis’ safety. Either way, he wrapped his arms around Louis and hugged him close.

“I hate heights, I’ve told you.”

“Ya, you have, you’re right. Multiple times. Like, five seconds ago too.” Louis’ voice had changed. It sounded sweet and gossamer, like if twining morning glories had suddenly learned to speak. Harry wanted to hear it again.

“Sorry I’m no fun,” he apologized, turning his head father into Louis’ shoulder.

“Hey now, none of that, you’re plenty of fun. I’m just a jerk, Haz, don’t mind me.” Louis patted Harry’s head, but then left his hand there, slowly beginning to twist at Harry’s curls.

“You’re not a jerk, you’re just…” Harry searched for the right word. “You’re brave.”

Louis’ touch filled Harry with the happiness of a million flocking butterflies. The ache throbbed painfully inside him as Louis licked his lips and pulled on one of Harry’s ringlets.

“Wish I had curly hair,” he murmured very softly.

“You could get a perm,” Harry offered, snickering and biting his bottom lip.

Louis’ eyes narrowed with mischief and he dipped a hand down to Harry’s stomach and tickled him, making Harry yelp and let out an atrocious giggle. His instinct was to squirm and lean back, but before he could Louis pulled him tight, his arms like twin vices. 

“Woah… there we go. I shouldn’t tickle you up here,” Louis concluded as Harry’s heart thundered away in his chest, unable to suppress a near-death experience and adrenaline and the warm clutch of Louis Tomlinson. 

“You okay Haz?” Louis tried to get a good look at him, finally loosening his grasp so he could pull away a little. Harry wanted to keep ducked against Louis’ shoulder, though, because a bright blush had bloomed across his face.

“Ya, I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Look at you,” Louis poked his cheek, obviously having gotten a good view reguardless. Harry couldn’t help but dimple. “Do you always blush when tickled, Hazza?”

Harry choked on his own spit. He stuttered a moment. “Um, no, and—I’m not blushing… really…” He could feel himself growing redder as he said it, though.

“Gosh, look at you, you’ve got two apples on your cheeks, Harry! You’re adorable.”

Harry perhaps should have felt embarrassed by Louis’ description, but instead the adjective tingled inside him and lulled him and he realized he craved such adorations. Being very helpful, Harry’s cheeks flushed brighter still. Louis burst out into peals of bell-like titters as Harry gave up and nuzzled into his chest, absolutely crimson, half hiding himself, half relishing in not being hidden.

Harry glanced up a few moments later to see Louis still giggling into the back of his hand, his eyes crinkled up and glimmering like pools of moonlight. He got a bit lost in the boy beside him. Louis began swinging his legs, always and forever moving, and the wind started blowing his fringe in messy ruffles along his brow.

The ache tugged like a barbed wire from Harry’s throat to his groin, taught and painful. Nothing soothed it, but Harry didn’t care. He’d take the pain if he got to admire his best friend’s brilliant radiance, his gentle laughter. As Harry fixated on the wind-tossed mess of Louis’ hair, he felt a sudden urge to brush the stray strands back into place.

He did it before he’d realized. Harry’s fingertips grazed Louis’ forehead as he reached out and smoothed along the smaller boy’s wispy hair. The contact sent a small shock through him, and perhaps through Louis as well, because he stopped giggling and his legs went still. Harry knew he should look away or climb down or do literally anything to break the spell, but he couldn’t; some strange magic had entwined him already, and meeting Louis’ eyes just cemented its hold. The ache within him burned, consuming all the oxygen in his ribcage, leaving none for him to breathe.

They stared at each other as green turned to grey and the pink air finally faded into shadows. Of course they had looked at each other countless times, a thousand times, and had even been this close, had even touched their lips together; but never had Harry gazed into the dark of Louis’ eyes and seen such fragile hope.

Louis licked his lips and moved his head closer. Harry didn’t flinch away. He watched as the tiny creases of Louis’ lips became defined, charted in delicate lines like streams on a map only he could read; then Harry closed his eyes.

Louis kissed him, and every thought left his mind like shadows scattering in the wake of sunlight. All his senses belonged to Louis. He couldn’t touch, taste, smell, or feel anything other than the boy beside him.

Though it seemed an eternity, it ended in a moment. Louis pulled away, his breath filled with wobbles, blinking rapidly. He didn’t look at Harry, but instead stared down to the forest floor, seeming nervous and unsure.

Harry didn’t want him to be. He took Louis’ face between his warm hands and brought their mouths together again, this time parting his lips.

In an instant their tongues were touching, just thick, flat little bumps of wet and breath and taste, but it caused Louis to moan and lace his fingers into the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck.

They kissed like toffees melting slowly in the heat, unwrapping into each other, growing pliant and soft and sticky and sweet. Louis tasted of copper and marshmallow and his skin smelled sharp like an exotic citrus, addicting Harry before he’d even become a user.

Louis’ jaw pushed hard against his with a hunger that verged on desperation. Harry felt it too, felt how the ache lessened with each moment they were melded together, and he eagerly let himself be soothed. They were both making little sounds now, breaking any unspoken vow of silence. Harry sucked and smacked and Louis gave sharp little whistles through his nose, high and keening enough to send shivers down Harry’s spine.

They reached a fever pitch and suddenly they both needed air, so they broke apart. Several strands of spit stretched between their puffy lips.

“Hazza,” Louis whispered, his fingers pressing against Harry’s neck like another language he had yet to learn.

Harry couldn’t say words. He just smiled, letting his dimples form in his cheeks. He found Louis’ hand and held it tightly, a guardian against the tidal wave of guilt and fear that had been building behind his eyes.

“We—“ Louis didn’t usually hesitate, but speech seemed to escape him as well. “We should get back. If no one’s found us by now…” He trailed off and Harry squeezed tighter.

“I suppose we have to go back,” Harry said.

“I’d rather return than be found.”

Louis could have meant many things, but his statement burrowed deep in Harry’s heart like a secret. This blasphemous thing they’d done was sacred and safe, even if they’d now trod closer to danger than ever before. Their only hope lay in secrecy.

“I’ll help you down, Harry.”

“Okay,” Harry said, shifting on the tree limb so Louis could climb past him. Louis kept Harry’s hand in his and guided his descent.

“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t let you fall.”

Harry didn’t say it, but he thought it. _I already have_.


	19. Caught In A Landslide, No Escape From Reality

Harry didn’t sleep at all that night, instead lying awake as the darkness of the cabin formed into horrible monsters and twisted his mostly rational mind with near-frantic worry. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel Louis’ lips, but then he’d hear Pastor James snoring from across the room, sounding like a rebuke to his guilt-ridden mind.

When the next morning dawned, Harry observed that Louis likewise had dark circles under his eyes. They shared glances over breakfast and morning devotionals, but too many people surrounded them to allow any type of conversation. The kayaking instructor’s alphabetized list of last names separated them for the day’s activates through no ill intention, yet Harry found himself harboring a hatred towards clip boards for several hours. Without Louis around, the guilt munched at Harry, gnawing on his tender nerves through the day and making him miserable. Liam, who shared his kayak, tried to cheer him up as best he could, thinking that the first evening’s events had contributed to Harry’s gloom. Surprisingly, Harry found he appreciated the other boy’s constant chatter, as it kept the shame from ebbing away at his spirit.

By the end of the day, not even campfire food could cure Harry’s misery. He nibbled sullenly on a burger until he spotted Louis and the other group of boys approaching. Instantly the ache constricted in him and he felt heat rising to his cheeks. Louis sauntered over, his gait normal to any observer other than Harry, who could see the warring apprehension in his posture.

Louis sat next to him with his hotdog and took a bite, not saying anything, his shoulders tense. After two more mouthfuls, he spoke.

“Have a fun day, Haz?”

Harry swallowed a bit of dry bun. His heartbeat stuttered from just that simple question. “It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Louis smiled weakly at him.

Harry hesitated. “It would have been better with you.”

Louis paused chewing, lowering the hotdog to his plate.

“We, um. We need to talk, Haz.”

Harry nearly crumpled in on himself. He could feel a black hole forming in his belly.

“Tonight? After everyone’s asleep. Be ready,” Louis whispered just as Liam approached with his plate, plunking down at the picnic table next to them.

That night Harry kept his sweatshirt and socks on over his pajamas, pulling up his sleeping bag enough to hide this from prying eyes. He lie awake, half terrified, half excited, until the quiet of the cabin had turned to soft snores. He glanced at his watch: one o’clock. In the moonlit illumination of the cabin window, Harry saw Louis slip from his bunk and come to his side. Ruffling under his sleeping bag, Louis found his hand and squeezed it tightly. 

“Follow me,” he whispered against Harry’s ear, his voice incredibly soft.

Harry slid on his shoes and crept after him, letting Louis open and close the cabin door, a feat he achieved with quiet, practiced ease. They slipped out into the night air, the bright moon immediately illuminating them in mono-color.

Louis led Harry towards a wooded trail a good distance from the cluster of cabins. Adding to Harry’s feeling of foreboding, Louis didn’t giggle or spark with excitement; he seemed somber, resigned, like a soldier on a mission he didn’t wish to complete.

“I have to tell you something, Hazza,” Louis said as they came to a clearing. He turned and faced Harry square on, taking both Harry’s hands in his own. 

“Okay,” Harry said, a knot in his throat. What did he fear more? That Louis had hated what they’d done, or that he’d loved it? Both were bad. Both made Harry so horribly scared.

“I should have told you a long time ago. I should have told you before… everything.” Louis took a deep breath, but his voice still shook. “I should have, but I didn’t want things to change. I didn’t want you to run from me.”

Harry gulped. His heart did him no favors by beating at light speed.

“Okay,” Harry said again, hoping to reassure Louis, even if he himself remained petrified.

Louis trembled and Harry felt it through his fingertips.

“You know, Haz. I mean, we both know.” Louis exhaled slowly. “I have to say it, Harry, because I don’t want you to think this is just something I’m doing because… because…”

Time stopped and Harry froze in place, his heart already knowing so much more than his brain would let him understand.

Louis whispered, “I’m gay.”

Silence hung over them like a soaking shroud, suffocating Harry’s skin until he had goose bumps.

“I’m gay, Harry,” Louis repeated, stronger now, and he breathed in, the tension finally draining from his shoulders. “I’ve never said that out loud before.”

The ache punched Harry’s insides and knocked his breath away. He dropped Louis’ hands and clutched at his stomach, suddenly feeling very faint. Sinking to the forest floor and folding in, he barely noticed the hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

Louis knelt beside him immediately, his hands clasping Harry’s shoulders. “Hazza? Hazza?” He asked desperately, a terrible fear coloring his voice.

“S’okay, m’fine,” Harry cried, feeling so, so small.

Louis could be _anything_ , he could be _anything_ in the whole world _but that_. Harry could justify everything before, he could reason and wordsmith away what they did, how they felt. All their touches were friendly, ambiguous; just small sins, just skins touching, just free standing phenomenon that existed outside the realm of labels or explanations.

Now Louis had broken the seal, and they couldn’t go back. No more pretending it away. Harry thought of all the horrible words he’d been taught to associate with _gay_. _Gay_ equaled immodest pride parades and aids and prostitutes and immorality and depravity and mental sickness and _otherness_. Homosexuality was a despicable, unforgivable, heaven-excluding sin. How could that word also define Louis, and by extension… define him? Define what they’d done, who they were? How could Harry think of his best friend, of himself, in those terms? But Louis had left him no choice now, he’d said it, and Harry couldn’t reconcile the two definitions in his brain. By this admission they both stood condemned.

He cried harder, none of these thoughts making it out his mouth. Louis held him, rocking back and forth, crying too.

“Please say something, Harry, anything,” Louis begged.

Harry swiped at the snot above his lip with the cuff of his sweatshirt, his voice still lurching with sobs. “M’sorry, Lou,” he hiccupped, “I’m sup—supposed to like, tell you—“ Harry buried his face in his sleeve cuffs—“Something nice, like—like it’s okay, or something.”

“You don’t have to, Harry. I didn’t expect you to.” Louis pulled a little away from him.

Harry sobbed harder.

“Just… why d’you have to be _gay_ , Lou?” Harry squeezed his eyes shut so tightly he began to see spots.

“Hazza.” Louis’ pet name sounded more like a plea. “I can’t help it, I just am. I thought maybe you’d understand. Don’t you understand, Harry?”

Louis sounded wounded.

“Lou—“ Harry felt his voice stutter out much louder than he’d anticipated, as if increasing the volume of his words would make them more true—“But we’re best friends, right? This is just normal, isn’t it?”

Louis’ hands pressed down firmly on his shoulders, steadying and warm. “It’s not just normal for me,” Louis said deliberately, carefully, like his words were orbs of blown glass teetering on a precipice.

Harry bit his lip to keep it from wobbling and took a long breath, but nothing soothed the cry that kept erupting inside of him. He pinned his mouth shut so only whimpers escaped, feeling weak and childish; but he couldn’t compartmentalize this. The neat corral in which he’d stuffed his guilt had burst when Louis laid everything bare.

“C’mon, Harry, I’ll take you back.” Louis said, flat and pained. “I’m sorry. I—I thought you knew. I thought, maybe…” Louis didn’t finish, but Harry heard him sniff, saw him wipe roughly at his eyes in the moonlight.

“Wait,” Harry said, grabbing at Louis’ hand as he rose to stand next to his best friend under the mottled trees, “No, I don’t mean…”

But he couldn’t say more. His words trailed off to nothingness and Louis’ large eyes looked hurt and empty and they pierced Harry’s heart like shards of glass. 

“It’s my fault, Harry, I’d convinced myself—all these months, all this time—when you really did just think of me…” Louis’ voice trembled and finally broke. He turned his back to Harry and stepped away, clearly not wanting Harry to see him cry.

_No, no, you have it all wrong_ , Harry screamed in his head. Anything that defined Louis, defined him as well. Everything Louis felt, everything he wanted, Harry mirrored, Harry reciprocated, Harry yearned for too. And that’s what scared him. Louis had never been alone in his feelings, but Harry didn’t know how to say this without confessing to a crime that would destroy him.

Regardless, he knew he must try.

“Lou, no,” he cried, wrapping his arms around Louis from behind. “Lou, Lou,” he repeated, kissing his best friend’s neck, holding him, clutching him too closely. “I’m… I can’t… Lou we can’t be that, it’s not safe. This way we were safe. We can just stay… like this…” 

Harry’s ramblings bounced off the tree trunks and faded into silence. Louis pried Harry’s arms loose and turned to face him.

“I’m not sure I understand, Haz,” he said, petting at Harry’s curls tenderly, a tiny smile coming to his face.

Harry could find no words to explain himself. Instead he clasped his hands under the cusp of Louis’ jaw and kissed him, his mouth working against Louis’ firmly, insistently, needily. Louis matched his hunger. Every feeling he couldn’t say Harry poured out between their lips, and he prayed Louis could grasp the only language that hadn’t abandoned him.

When they broke apart, panting, Louis cleared his throat and took Harry’s hands.

“I think I understand, a little,” he said, squeezing Harry’s fingers in his.

Harry hung his head and licked the spit from around his mouth. “Lou, you’re my best friend. I never want that to stop.”

“Neither do I.”

Harry curled into him, tucking his head to Louis’ neck. Louis held him, rubbing patterns along his spine, the night quiet but for the crickets and the gentle breeze.

“We should head back, Haz,” Louis whispered after a while.

“Not yet, please?” Harry begged, because if not for Louis’ arms he’d be lost, a boat without an anchor, drifting scared and aimless and alone.

Louis kissed his forehead and nodded. “Okay, Hazza. A little longer.”

Harry stared at the moonlight reflecting in Louis’ eyes. It had turned them a bright grey, blue only showing in sparkles along the edge of his irises. A little cluster of freckles lay illuminated on his cheek, and Harry became mesmerized by their delicacy. Without much thought, he leaned in and touched his lips to them before once again finding Louis’ mouth. 

This kiss had no strong jaws or needy gasps. It passed between them gently as their lips pillowed and suckled. Louis tasted like honey and starlight, and Harry needed the nourishment of his wet tongue, needed it like air. The kiss soothed every scared part of him, taming the ache and filling his head with forgetful bliss.

That mere moment became Harry’s forever.

“I could kiss you endlessly,” Louis confessed at last to the darkness.

All the guilt, shame, and confusion inside Harry’s brain cowered to insignificance at Louis’ words. Wonderstruck, Harry brought his fingers to Louis’ lips and traced over them, a beautiful electricity thrumming against his skin as if he drew invisible lines of worship through Louis’ aura.

Catching his hand, Louis smiled and pressed his lips into the center of Harry’s palm.

“We need to head back. Come on, I’ll hold you.”

He wrapped both arms around Harry’s waist as they walked slowly along the trail. In many ways the whole journey felt like a strange dream, but Harry knew that just like at the museum, in the morning he’d remember it all. 

*

When morning came, even oblivious Liam knew something had happened between Harry and Louis. He asked three times why they were so quiet during breakfast, and when neither of them tried very hard at the Bible verse drill, Liam positively squawked with curiosity, even wondering aloud if they’d caught a bug.

Pastor James assigned them all to groups for the day’s activity, a five-mile scavenger hung ranging from the campground’s forest to small lake. As fate would have it, Louis and Harry were with Liam. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Aiden and Matt also joined them, hopeful that some of Liam’s attention could be diverted elsewhere.

Harry and Louis continued being abysmal at usefulness, and finally the other boys gave up asking for their help in finding the hidden ‘fruits of the spirit.’ As they continued hiking the day grew unusually warm, prompting Liam to peel off his shirt and Matt to complain about having worn jeans instead of shorts.

Harry stole furtive glances at Louis constantly, unable to keep his mind from wandering. He craved Louis’ touch so much that being close to him and unable to receive it felt like torture. But roaring guilt had also come home to roost for Harry, and it lay heavy on his chest as they walked side by side. He felt as if someone were pulling him apart.

“And here’s the lake!” Aiden whooped, pointing beyond the little hill he’d just crested.

“I am absolutely getting in,” Liam said, hurrying to Aiden’s side.

“Same,” Matt agreed, wiping the sweat off his face. “Come on, guys,” he motioned to Louis and Harry.

Harry stalled in his tracks, confused. “We didn’t bring any swim shorts, though? I don’t wanna walk back in wet clothes.”

“We’ll just take them off, no one else is way out here,” Liam explained, already unbuttoning his shorts as he hurried towards the lake’s edge.

Harry turned to Louis. If his slightly flushed cheeks and bitten lip were anything to go by, he had guessed this turn of events already.

“I’m cold,” Harry blurted, regretting his words immediately because everyone could plainly see the wet sweat stains on his t-shirt.

“O-kaaaay,” Aiden said, wrinkling his nose at Harry.

“Look there’s that little island we saw on the drive in! You guys up for a race to it?” Liam asked, all frenzied excitement.

“Er, maybe, I guess…” Louis answered when everyone else had nodded enthusiastically.

“Hurry up! Oh wow the water’s cold,” Liam observed as he waded in, butt naked. 

Louis lowered his voice. “You don’t have to come, Harry. It’s fine.”

Somehow Matt heard him anyway.

“Of course he has to come Louis, don’t let him chicken out. You’re dying to, Harry, admit it.” 

Matt’s words were somewhat true. Harry _was_ dying.

Harry chomped his cheek as the other boys striped around him, purposely putting his back to Louis as he contemplated his options. He eventually decided it seemed more suspicious not to go, and besides, maybe he could get to the water before anyone saw him. Or before he saw… anyone.

Yanking off his clothes and depositing them as close to the water line as possible, Harry dashed into the cold lake, his hands over his crotch, his eyes squinted mostly shut. He didn’t open them until he stood chest deep in the water and heard Liam’s voice beside him.

“Alright who’s racing? Are we ready?” Liam asked, already bracing his legs for a kickoff from the murky bottom.

All five of them decided to give it a go, and as they were strong swimmers, it became a worthy contest. Liam and Aiden pulled ahead in the final stretch and reached the tiny island (if such a small strip of rocks and sparse trees could be called that) before the rest.

Harry hadn’t thought of this, but of course as soon as they made land everyone wanted to climb out and explore. He made up an excuse about collecting muscle shells and stubbornly stayed in the water as Aiden convinced Louis to climb around on several of the large boulders.

Harry had just found his first muscle (slimy, disgusting, he’d have to think of a different excuse) when he heard Aiden yell, “Louis! You okay?”

He cleared the water in an instant, clambering over to where Louis had slipped from a rock and whacked his shin hard. Louis leaned against the offending boulder as he rubbed at the angry welt on his leg.

“Think so, just hit it bad,” he winced. Harry immediately offered his shoulder as a substitute support, and Louis took it.

“Who’s injured?” Liam asked, half in a panic as he and Matt hurried up.

“No one, I’m fine, everyone stay calm,” Louis reiterated, rolling his eyes.

“Harry…” Aiden said, slowly, his mouth hanging open. It took Harry a moment to realize Aiden’s gaze was focused on him and not Louis’ injured shin.

“Oh. Wow,” Matt whistled, his eyebrows shooting up. 

“Harry, I would _not_ have guessed that,” Aiden continued, shaking his head in awe.

Harry didn’t immediately remember his naked state, but once he did, his stomach churned and he felt like heaving.

“Guess you won’t have any problem being fruitful and multiplying,” Matt said, knuckling Harry good-naturedly in the bicep.

Harry bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He didn’t respond.

“Leave him alone,” Louis snapped, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Gosh, it’s not a bad thing, Louis, no one’s teasing him. Lighten up. What’s with you two?” Aiden said, turning to jump back into the water.

“I’ve heard that usually you can go by people’s feet, but yours are misleading, Harry,” Liam said helpfully, smiling at Harry, utterly oblivious to his discomfort.

“Thanks for your expertise, Liam,” Louis quipped, giving Harry’s shoulders a little squeeze and nudging him towards the lake.

Harry let the cold water soothe his prickling skin. The other boys started back without them, clearly irked by Louis’ defensive tone.

“You okay, Haz?” Louis asked, his mouth tight in concern.

“Ya. It’s you who’s hurt, not me.”

“Haz,” Louis looked at him sympathetically, “I’m sorry about them. I’m sorry about the skinny-dipping. I know you didn’t want to.”

Harry swallowed as he splashed in deeper and asked the only thing he really wanted to know. “Did you see?”

Louis went very still, his blue eyes staring somewhere past Harry’s left ear, reflecting both the sky and water. “No. I promise I didn’t look.”

Harry prodded in a whispered rush, “Did—did you want to?”

Louis met his eyes briefly and then dropped his gaze. “You mean, ‘cause I’m gay.” His lip trembled as he continued, “I knew it would change everything.”

Both of them had fed, nurtured, and tended the monstrous thing they now shared, and Harry couldn’t bear to see Louis believing that he’d birthed their beast alone.

He stepped closer, causing little ripples to nudge against their chests. “I asked because I wanted you to see,” he said, even though the truth burned his throat and upset his stomach. He owed this to Louis. “Lou, I’m…”

But he couldn’t. He stood there, shaking his head side to side, hating that the words refused to leave his throat.

“It’s alright Harry,” Louis murmured, pulling Harry into a watery hug.

“I’m a jerk, I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, Hazza, you’re not.”

“But I—I don’t know anything Lou, I don’t know how to say it or think it or…” Harry felt snot dribble out his nose. “If I say it out loud? It’s like the world would end.”

Louis rubbed his shoulder. “Then don’t say it, Haz. It’s okay. I know.”

Harry tried confessing from another angle. “Um. I wanted to see you too,” he whispered, “A lot.”

Harry had grown half hard as they stood together in the cold water, Louis’ nakedness counteracting even the frigid temperature. His lithe shoulders dipped down to deep collarbones that held drops of lake water like goblets, and Harry wanted to lick the sweetness from them. Louis’ tummy showed off his lean muscles in beckoning curves, and Harry finally understood why mortals must look away from the brilliance of angels. He wanted Louis so, so badly.

Louis drew closer, scanning the way Harry’s eyes devoured him, the way Harry’s face betrayed his near-desperation.

“Look at you, Hazza.”

Harry ducked his head sheepishly. “You’re so perfect.”

Louis’ breath hitched in response. In slow, deliberate motions he rested his hands on Harry’s hips, finding the soft flesh there and letting his fingers knead in. Then he pressed their thighs together.

Harry jolted as he felt the proof of Louis’ body mirroring his own. More than anything he yearned to touch, to explore. Tentatively, he reached out and trailed his fingers down Louis’ stomach, over the mounds of his abs. Louis didn’t flinch, instead leaning into his wandering hands, his breath soft against Harry’s cheek. Soon Harry touched a shock of thick hair under the water. He let his hand sink down farther, holding his breath. 

Louis clutched out a strangle gasp as Harry’s fingers found their destination. Harry didn’t linger long; his actions had startled him and released a new deluge of guilt. He yanked his hand away, causing small waves to radiate around them.

Louis watched him with wide, hungry eyes. “You okay, Harry?” He asked, more delicately than Harry had ever heard him speak.

Harry stared at the lapping water between them, stunned and immolating. “We shouldn’t do this, Lou, no matter what we are, we shouldn’t.”

“Ya. I know.” Louis swallowed and reached for Harry’s hand. “Let’s get back to shore, Hazza.”

 

When they finally climbed out of the lake and scrambled into their clothes, the other boys were not in a pleasant mood.

“What took you two so long? We’re gonna loose if we don’t make it back soon.”

“It’s not our fault your dumb rock hopping made Louis hurt his leg,” Harry snapped at Aiden, taking the other boy aback.

“Oh. Is it hard to walk on your leg, Louis?” Liam asked, his brow creasing in worry.

“Er, it’s a challenge, ya,” Louis stuttered, looking at Harry with an odd sort of disbelief at his blatant lie.

This cover provided a perfect excuse for them to lag behind the other boys on the hike back, however. Louis realized several steps in that Harry’s lie held more truth than he’d realized, and Harry ended up genuinely supporting half his body weight as Louis’ shin swelled up badly away from the icy water.

When they eventually made it back to the camp center, Ben and his group had won, to no one’s surprise. Pastor James had an early dinner of Sloppy Joe’s waiting for them, after which he preached a combined message for both the boys and girls’ groups, then led a hymn sing to close the night.

Harry couldn’t focus on any of it, barely eating the bbq’d meat he’d stuffed in his squished white bun. He’d touched Louis, touched him in his most private place. Throughout the evening he stared at his fingers in disbelief of their deed. A slightly more mature part of him understood that the weirdness he felt resulted not only from guilt but also from his complete lack of sexual experience. Gemma had said that first times—first touches—felt strange.

But he’d touched _Louis_. His _best friend_. Never had he imagined his firsts going like this. His first kiss should have been on his wedding day, his first touch on his wedding night. He had always planned to loose his virginity with his wife under the sanctioned blessing of marriage. He’d always planned to do everything just the way he’d been taught. But now.

Now he wanted to break every rule, to lie, to risk absolutely everything. This realization dawned on him accompanied by a smothering tide of guilt. How would he survive two more days with Louis so near? Or the bus ride home? Harry thought of their intermingled lives, how they spent nearly every waking moment together. It would take ridiculous amounts of self-control to never do what they’d done again.


	20. Real Eyes Realise Real Lies

Harry said goodbye to Louis in the church parking lot, their eyes meeting for only a second before they both looked away. They’d huddled together for the entirety of the ride home, whispering and touching in small, secret ways. Harry had hoped his frantic intoxication would grow less, that the ache would tame with Louis pressed against him, but instead their contact only whet his appetite.

Anne picked him up and brought him home, peppering him with questions about his time, what he had learned, how the food had been. She and Robin continued their eager interrogation during dinner; Anne had cooked his favorite, grilled chicken with corn and green beans, as a sort of welcome home. His parents had missed him, obviously, even though Harry had only been gone for five days. The meal spiked his mood a little, as did seeing his parents, but the sudden absence of Louis wrenched terribly inside him. Parted from his best friend, guilt ate away at his edges, leaving him frayed and exhausted half-way through the evening.

They all settled in the living room after dinner and Robin flipped on the oldies channel. Curling up against the arm of the sofa, Dick Van Dyke’s voice echoing in his ears, Harry drifted off.

It would have been a perfectly pleasant nap, but Harry woke with an awful crick in his neck. 

“Owww,” He moaned, rubbing at his protesting vertebrae.

“Honey, when will you learn to grab a pillow?” Anne chided, settling down her knitting and motioning Harry over. He scooted gratefully, presenting his sore neck.

Anne’s hands were gentle and warm. They reminded him of kissed boo boos and snarly hair-combings and teary hugs and childhood. Harry never wanted to outgrow her gentle care, the way she made him feel so loved and worried over. He was her baby, after all.

A lump settled in his throat, and he found it hard to swallow. _What would she think of me now_ , Harry thought. _What would she say if she knew_.

Robin rose in search of custard, leaving Harry and Anne alone. Feeling extraordinarily breakable, Harry whispered,

“Mom?”

“Honey?”

“I—I did something.”

Anne paused rubbing his neck only a moment, then continued.

“Okay,” She said gently, “I’m listening.”

Harry had to go on; he’d backed himself into a corner. “I—I kissed—“

But he couldn’t do it, his soul buckled against him like a warped slab of iron. The answer to his theoretical questions hit him in a moment of truth. _She wouldn’t love you if she knew. She’d be so disappointed in you. You’d break her heart. There would be no way of undoing this_.

Harry chose the lesser sin. “I kissed a girl.”

Anne stopped rubbing his neck. She drew in a tight breath and made a sound between a tisk and a sigh.

“Oh Harry,” She finally said, turning his shoulders so he faced her. “You know why God gives us rules about these things.”

Harry couldn’t speak. He just nodded.

“He doesn’t want us to get hurt, honey. If you do things the world’s way, that’s what always happens.”

Harry felt the ache grip his organs and squeeze.

“Was just a kiss, mom,” he muttered, biting his lip hard to keep from tearing up.

“God designed intimacy as a special gift with your spouse, Harry. Don’t you want to honor your future wife and wait, to do things the way God designed them?”

“I… I know.”

“Why didn’t you just come to your father and I, Harry? You could have asked to court this girl. Instead you’ve let guilt eat you up, look at yourself.” Anne squeezed his arm lovingly.

“I—“ Harry had gone up a creek now. “She’s… she’s not from church, mom.”

Anne’s face fell terribly. “Harry.” Her tone reverberated with disappointment. “God warns us not to be unequally yoked with non-believers. That’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. We are God’s children, and the Holy Spirit lives in us. Our body is his temple, and when we sin we defile it. How long has this been going on?”

Harry swallowed. “Not long.” He couldn’t meet his mother’s eyes.

“I know how much it stings when the Holy Spirit convicts us, Harry. I just wish you’d come to me earlier, honey. Have you asked His forgiveness?”

Harry blinked back tears. No, no he hadn’t. He’d been too scared to try. Perhaps God had cut off his prayer channel the moment he touched Louis’ lips, the moment he looked at his best friend and desired him more than all the riches in the world.

“Remember that God chastens those he loves, Harry. Let’s pray about this, okay?”

Without waiting for Harry’s confirmation Anne took his hand between hers and closed her eyes.

“Lord, we thank you today that you’ve touched Harry’s heart to confess his sin and come to you for forgiveness. We are just weak humans, Lord, and we fall so easily. Please help Harry to remain pure and holy for you, and to resist the temptations that come his way. Help Harry to remember your commands and hold fast to them in this fallen world. And finally I pray for the young woman you have ordained for Harry someday, that she will also remain pure and holy, and that in your time, you will bring her into Harry’s life and teach him to love her as You love the church. Thank you for always being there for us, Father, and for always forgiving us when we come to you with a humble heart. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Nearly retching in sickness, Harry fell more than leaned into Anne, trying in vain to stymie the hurt. Anne held him warmly, and he let himself be comforted by his mother for just a while longer, even if he now took her affections under false pretences.

He had a foot in each world now, and he’d never learned to stand in the one. As Anne also left to get dessert Harry cuddled down into the lumpy couch pillows, wishing they would swallow him. 

He’d done a lot in the past week he could never undo. He could never un-know the things he’d figured out; he could never look at himself, or Louis, the same way he had before. He’d crossed the Rubicon, as Robin liked to say. Harry had always wondered if biting the apple was worth it, and he thought back to the red serpent at the museum and its tempting glass eyes. But what could he do now? Try to forget? Search for answers that he’d maybe missed before? Pray, a lot, and hope God would still listen to him?

Only one thing he knew for sure. It hit him heavily and swiftly, like a falling meteor: he _loved_ Louis.

He loved Louis with every atom of his body, every shard of his soul, in a different way than he’d loved anyone before. This love consumed him, burning and painful in its intensity, but also deep and rich and delicate and beautiful, like a root system that had grown deep into his body and burrowed into every blood vessel, every organ, every cell.

He was _in love_.


	21. Blanket Forts And Other Unveilings

Sunday dawned bright and early the next morning and Harry went through the motions of getting ready for church, but his mind kept racing. He felt unusually nervous to see Louis, perhaps because of what he’d realized the night before. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with them?

You don’t, Harry decided. He tucked his newly discovered feelings deep in his heart, telling himself they’d just complicate everything. He could only face one crisis at a time, and he already had enough to handle. 

Robin dropped Anne and Harry off and went to park the car. As they walked into Lakeside’s foyer, Jay spotted them and hurried over, Lottie trailing behind her.

“Anne! I meant to call you yesterday, we had some of Mark’s coworkers over Friday and I have half a ham left, would you three be up for lunch today?” Jay smiled at Harry and reached out to squeeze his shoulder fondly.

“The boys would love that, wouldn’t you, Harry? And so would I for that matter, one less dinner to fix.”

“Perfect.” The twins ran up just then followed by an unsuspecting Louis, who’d obviously been herding them diligently, oblivious to all else.

He stopped short when he saw Harry, and his face softened, little creases forming around his eyes.

“We’ll see you all around twelve-thirty, then?”

Anne nodded. “Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourselves, I have so much food left.”

“Not even dessert?”

“It’s funny you mention that, I asked Mark to pick up a cringle from…”

Anne and Jay’s conversation droned on around the boys, but they didn’t hear it. Harry could barely look at Louis without gaping, without licking his lips and grinning like an idiot; only with massive effort did he not leap into Louis’ arms. Louis must have felt much the same, because abruptly he tugged Harry’s sleeve and waved to their mothers, leading them towards the basement and their youth group classroom.

They sat silently through class, their thighs touching during prayer. Later, they sat silently through the service alongside their families; they had nothing to say that could be said between the church walls. Louis’ presence proved enough to calm Harry’s churning mind, but the whole drive to the Tomlinson’s Harry pretended to nap against the sunny car window, just in case his parents asked any questions.

When they arrived, the twins greeted them at the door, bouncing with excitement. 

“Harry will you play hide and seek with us?” Phoebe begged, tugging on his arm.

“Right now?”

“Lunch will be a few,” Jay smiled at Harry from the kitchen, overhearing.

“Um,” Harry said, selfishly caring only about finding Louis.

“Louis, you too! Come on. Please? Please? Lottie won’t play,” Daisy implored.

“Sure.” Wiping his hands on a dishcloth, Louis emerged from the kitchen where he’d been helping his mother with lunch. Both boys followed the twins upstairs. Daisy wanted to count first.

When Daisy’s eyes were closed and Phoebe had scampered off, Louis took Harry’s hand and pulled him towards the spare room. The girls had built a massive blanket fort there, and under this Louis crawled.

Harry followed after him. The fort hung low to the ground, and he had to shimmy in on his belly. His zipper snagged on the carpet, pulling his pants tight around his hips.

“M’legs are still sticking out,” Harry whispered as Daisy’s counting neared twenty.

“C’mere,” Louis said, scooping his hands under Harry’s arms and pulling Harry over him, enmeshing their bodies under the dipping blankets.

Harry didn’t dare breath; his legs had slotted between Louis’, but he made sure to hold his torso up. Soon his arms began to shake with the effort.

Louis twisted a bit beneath him as Daisy called, “Ready or not, here I come!”

The blankets stifled normal airflow and the smell of Louis’ breath enveloped Harry, making him near dizzy with want. Louis saw, and self-consciously turned his head to the side, a little apology in his smile as he licked his lips. The blankets let in just enough light for Harry to see a faint pink rise on his cheeks.

Harry’s resolve crumbled. Moving in little increments, he lowered himself and buried his face in Louis’ neck, letting the scent of musty blankets and Louis become all knotted up in his throat. He could feel his best friend’s pulse. Harry spoke, his voice a muffled whisper against Louis’ flesh.

“There’s no going back, now, is there?” Harry felt his eyes dampening.

“That’s not true, Haz.” Louis brought his fingers to skim along Harry’s spine, rubbing up and down gently. “We never have to do anything like that again, I promise. We can be enough. I just don’t want to be alone.” Louis paused, then added, softer, “The guilt would be too much if I were alone.”

Harry’s heart stuttered. Somehow he’d thought that because Louis had labeled himself, because Louis seemed braver and bolder and better at things, that the crushing guilt didn’t gorge him.

“Lou,” he mouthed, kissing the tenderness of Louis’ neck. It tasted faintly like copper pennies and felt like pearled satin. The blankets shivered around them as Louis wiggled in response.

“Lou?” Harry decided to confess. “I almost told my mom, it hurt so bad. But I couldn’t. I told her I’d kissed a girl instead, and she prayed for me, gave me a whole lecture. She was so disappointed.”

Louis chuckled darkly. “I’ve heard that speech from Mark. It’s an old favorite.” He tilted his head slightly, subtly offering Harry his neck again.

Harry thrilled at this and pressed his lips once more to Louis’ warm skin, leaving a damp trail as he worked upwards. When he reached Louis’ mouth and they kissed, Harry felt like he could truly breathe again, even though his lungs became starved and empty with the suction of their need. Louis pulled Harry farther down towards him until their hips met. They pressed hard lines against each other’s thighs, both tenting their pants spectacularly, and Harry let out a high, barely audible whistle at the sensation.

Louis broke their kiss to whisper, “I dreamed about the lake last night. You’re so hot, Hazza, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Something greedy in Harry lapped up his words. Louis moaned softly, opening his lips to share his tongue. Harry hungrily took it, wet and messy against his own open mouth. Louis filled his senses as the dim light of the blanket fort turned to haze and he lost any and all coherent thoughts. He pushed down gently, unsure of his actions, only knowing he yearned for friction. Louis immediately clasped the crease of Harry’s thighs and drew them tight to him, his hips gyrating slowly. It didn’t take long for Harry to catch on.

Louis’ fingers dug in as their presses became pulses, rhythmic and sharp; they rubbed against each other until their pants burned painfully and their thighs were raw and sore. Kissing became impossible and they ended up more licking each other’s faces, humping too fast to practice decorum and getting spit everywhere.

Harry couldn’t really control his body. Vaguely he knew the blankets were shaking around them, rippling with their movements. His hips chased after Louis’; he _wanted so badly_. Louis began to tremble beneath him, his body stuttering out of time, until he took Harry’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down. Harry keened at the pain, but the pleasure of it shot to his groin and he came, hard, jerking in spasms against Louis.

That’s what did it. The pile of blankets collapsed, burying them in sudden darkness. No sunlight witnessed their zipper-bruised bodies emptying into their boxers. When their heartbeats calmed a moment, Louis found Harry’s lips once more and gingerly sucked at them. Harry couldn’t stop panting, still breathless at what they’d done. Louis held him snugly, wrapping his arms so that Harry fell entirely against him. Harry tried to squirm up to his elbows, not wanting to crush Louis, but the smaller boy wouldn’t let him.

“No, stay,” Louis whispered, so softly Harry thought for a moment he’d imagined it.

They jolted back to reality as Daisy’s small voice penetrated the room.

“Found you Louis! Found you Harry!”

“You broke the fort, Lou!” Phoebe whined.

“We’ll have to make it all over again!”

Harry’s moist breath refracted back at him from the encompassing covers. The cocooning fort grew brighter as the twins began pulling off blankets, and in a frantic scramble Harry rolled off of Louis just before they were both revealed.

“You have to count now, Louis, I’m tired of seeking, and Phoebe cheats,” Daisy complained as the boys emerged spiky haired from the blankets. The twins were oblivious to the their blown pupils, their slick mouths, their heavy breathing.

“Ya, okay. Give me a minute, your fort nearly killed us…” Louis made a quick show of closing his eyes, “One, two…” His little sisters skipped from the room, chattering about the next best place to hide.

Louis stopped counting as the girls dashed down the stairs. Harry blinked in the sunlight, feeling like they’d been flung back into an old world after having stepped one foot in a strange, new, beautiful dimension. Swallowing, Harry sheepishly raised his eyes to Louis’, only too aware that his boxers were filled with a thick stickiness that dribbled uncomfortably along his skin.

“Lou?” Harry asked, because what else could he do, they were two boys sat in a destroyed blanket fort marinating in their own cum.

“God…” Louis tumbled into Harry and threw his arms around him, smashing their lips together once more. Harry’s heart thudded like a sponge soaked with molasses, its ripeness heavy within him, as if at any moment the organ could detach and splatter into nothingness.

Louis breathed between their lips, “I need you like air, Harry…”

Louis’ skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration; Harry could have stared at the dewy softness above his cheekbones forever, but suddenly he heard footsteps approaching from the hall. In a panic he shoved Louis backwards, common sense finally breaking through his blinding desire.

“Is everything okay boys, Daisy said the fort collapsed?” Jay rounded the doorway just as Louis fell back on his hands.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, fine, mom, fine,” Louis said, gathering up an armful of blankets as he spoke, his back to Jay, his every action indicating he’d been cleaning up since the fort collapsed. Harry followed suit, hoping she couldn’t see the crimson of his face and neck.

“Lunch is ready whenever you are,” Jay said, smiling warmly as Harry gathered a light comforter up around him, conveniently hiding his crotch.

When they were alone again, Harry chanced a glance down. His pants bore a conspicuous wet spot.

“We’ll put shorts on, say we got hot,” Louis said, answering his unasked question as he quietly stared down at his own fly. Louis stood from the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked gently, swallowing and chewing on his cheek.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. 

Louis’ lashes had clumped together darkly from the damp of their passion, sharply outlining his bright blue eyes; Harry had never seen anything more beautiful. He stared at his best friend unabashed, etching this sated version of Louis into his memory.

“Haz,” Louis looked down to the floor, blinking, embarrassed, coy.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, not at all sorry. Louis flicked his eyes back to Harry’s and gave him a soft smile.

“We should hurry,” Louis said, taking Harry’s hand and pulling him down the hall to his room.

They changed quickly, turned away from each other but still blushing. Before they went down to lunch, Louis grazed Harry’s arm with his fingers.

“I, er,” Louis bit at his lip twice before continuing, “I like how you look at me.”

Harry pecked his cheek. “I know, Lou.”

They ate quietly, side by side with their unsuspecting families. Anne remarked at their silence, but Jay attributed it to exhaustion from the trip. No one guessed the reality, and only Fizzy saw that during Mark’s prayer, neither of them closed their eyes.

*

The twins had started softball that spring, resulting in an unanticipated amount of travel for the Tomlinsons. Usually the older girls stayed home with Louis while Jay and Mark took the twins, but this weekend the tournament took place in a suburb of Chicago, and Lottie and Fizzy had begged to see the city.

Jay agreed, so long as Louis was okay staying home alone with Chance. Of course, Louis had no issue with this, but also he had no intention of being alone.

Harry almost couldn’t believe their luck. His parents hadn’t blinked an eye when he’d told them about his weekend plans. He biked over on Friday afternoon, directly after school, a half-stuffed backpack slung over his shoulder. They’d seen each other all week, but doing homework in their families’ dining rooms afforted them precious few opportunities to be truly alone (rather, alone enough to act on their desires).

Louis opened the door before Harry could knock. “You found it,” he smirked, “Thought you got lost, you took so long.” His eyes dazzled with a joyous brightness. Harry’s cheeks grew hot and he stumbled inside.

“I did not take long, I came right—“

He didn’t get a chance to finish his protestation because Louis tugged him over the threshold, slammed the door, and jumped him all in one swift movement, splaying his legs around Harry’s waist and kissing his mouth hard. Harry held him up by the buttocks and sucked at Louis like a parched man; he tasted of stale coffee and chips and cheap mint gum, and Harry wished that essence could imbue his blood.

Carrying Louis required concentration, which Harry had none of. They fell to the floor, a tangled mass of legs and spit and breath.

“Hazza,” Louis whispered, his fingertips digging into Harry’s soft sides.

“Lou,” Harry whispered back between kisses. Louis lay on him, flushed and sweet and giggling, and Harry’s ache starved for satisfaction.

They rolled around on the kitchen floor until the light began to cast shadows through the windows. Steadily they made out, touching each other wherever they could reach while still remaining locked at the lips. At one point Louis brought his hands to Harry’s face and stroked along his cheekbones, humming between their mouths. 

Harry would have stayed on that kitchen floor for eternity.

Finally, after the joint rumble of their stomachs, Louis broke the spell. “Wanna watch a movie while we eat, Haz? I snuck a few in.”

Harry blinked up at him, half forgetting anything else had ever existed. “Like what?”

“You know. Stuff we can’t watch.”

Harry went very still. “Gay stuff?”

“Kind of.” Louis sat up and fixed his fringe, going a bit bashful. “I, um, got Grease. And Footloose. Also Hairspray.” He looked to Harry anticipatorily.

“I’ve never seen any of those, Lou.”

“You’ve never seen Grease?” He looked offended.

“Is there swearing and sex?”

“Ya, I guess.”

“Then, nope.”

“I snuck the VHS home from the library one day, years ago. Watched it in the middle of the night on the TV in the basement. It’s my _favorite_ movie.” Louis almost shone with excitement. He grabbed a box of cold pizza from the fridge, threw two paper plates on top, and clasped Harry’s hand. “Come on, you’ll love it.”

They watched Grease as they ate, curled up together, sharing bites, Louis pickily depositing all his olives onto Harry’s plate. When they’d finished eating, Louis pulled Harry nearer still and began to comb his fingers through Harry’s curls, and Harry melted into his touch, entranced to limp bliss.

Halfway through the movie, Grease had been reduced to background noise. Apparently kissing Harry trumped Louis’ favorite film. Harry squirmed on the couch as Louis pressed him into the cushions, hot and needy.

Harry felt cool air on his tummy and realized Louis had tucked his hands up under his shirt. The next moment Louis’ fingers looped beneath his waistband and he broke their kiss, looking at harry with wide, questioning eyes.

Harry had been hard for a while, and just the thought of Louis touching him—even seeing him—made him that much harder. But despite the mauling want of his ache, Harry struggled with the grappling hooks holding him back.

For the entire week Harry had been unable to fall asleep at night. Every time he’d closed his eyes and tried to drift off he’d imagine some new vision of disaster; they could be found out, punished, have their lives ruined… Darkness had become a pallet for his worst fears. To counter this he had two options; he could fall asleep thinking fervently about Louis, remembering the ways they’d touched, the ways they’d kissed, or he could try to assuage his guilt by turning to the only source that could do so: the Bible.

Several times he’d chosen the later option, as thinking of Louis only made him either wake up with unfulfilled dreams or start crying with loneliness. Harry would skim through the annals of scripture, using a concordance to search for what he needed to know: did men kiss in the Bible? He could remember several instances off the top of his head, but the reality of how many times men kissed each other took him by surprise. There were many relationships, even in the New Testament, to which Harry tried to draw parallels. In the Old Testament the crowning jewel remained the story of David and Jonathan, who openly declared their love for each other and for each other’s families’. And besides the Judas-kissing-incident, all the Biblical kisses seemed real and good. Harry would sooth himself with this knowledge and finally drift off to sleep.

There remained only one problem with this implied line of reasoning: no men in the Bible did anything more than kiss, and when they did, well. Sodom and Gomorra. 

“Lou,” Harry whispered, unsure how to say his fears out loud, “Should we stop? That?”

“Stop what, Haz?” Louis squirmed to an upright position and looked at Harry quizzically.

Harry watched Louis’ chest rise and fall. “Maybe we shouldn’t… touch each other there. Maybe—maybe it’s okay if we just do this. But if we do that, then it’s more.”

“It’s okay if we make out?” Louis quirked his eyebrows at him.

“Well,” Harry twisted his fingers in the fabric of Louis’ shirt, “David and Jonathan kissed, and lots of other men too, I looked it up. So it’s normal, you know, Biblically. No one could tell us we’re wrong for kissing.”

Louis clasped Harry’s shoulders and pulled him upright, the crease between his eyes deep. His mouth moved soundlessly for several moments before he finally spoke.

“It’s a nice thought, Hazza.” Louis began to pet at his curls reverently, comfortingly, grazing Harry’s temple with his knuckles. “But you really think everyone would be fine if we just stuck to kissing? They wouldn’t think that’s gay?”

Harry chewed his cheek. He knew the answer, but he wasn’t yet ready to concede defeat. And besides, something else had been eating at him.

“I dreamed I was a girl last night,” Harry said in the silence between them.

Louis’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry continued.

“I was a girl, and everything was alright.” Harry felt tears prick his eyes. “Lou, what if this isn’t gay? What if we’ve just never tried with girls? What if we’re just lonely and this feels good? Maybe it would feel just as good if it were a girl. We don’t know. We’ve never touched a girl, Lou.”

Louis swallowed and fiddled with his fringe. “I don’t know, Harry. I just know I want _you_. I’d want you whatever gender you were, I think. But we’re boys and… ya, Harry. This is pretty gay.”

Harry sniffed, feeling his eyes fill. He hadn’t meant to cry. “But I don’t want to be.”

“I—“ Louis hesitated, fidgeting around on the sofa—“I’m not sure we get to choose.”

Harry wiped at his tears. “You mean even if we never touched each other again we’d still be?”

Louis nodded slowly.

“But then we can’t fix it! So how can God blame us? I don’t understand.” Harry’s face flushed quickly, all the blood rushing to his head.

“I don’t know, Hazza. I try not to think about it,” Louis sighed, placing a hand against Harry’s chest to soothe his frantic heartbeat.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Harry confessed.

“I figure,” Louis took a moment to compose his thoughts, “If we’re breaking the rules no matter what we do, might as well do it all.”

Harry thought about this a moment. It seemed logical. They were damned if they did and damned if they didn’t, figuratively and actually. Perhaps that meant Harry could give in just a smidge. Perhaps he could tend to the ever-consuming ache inside of him.

He drew closer to Louis and bumped his nose, breathing in his scent. He heard Louis’ breath hitch.

“Kiss me, then,” Harry begged, for the first time letting several of those grappling hooks rip from him. At first he felt unmoored, but then he latched on to another center of gravity—the boy beside him—and his universe realigned.

It didn’t take long for them to pick up where they’d left off. Louis again slid his hands shakily under Harry’s shirt and moved his palms over Harry’s soft, padded, sweat-tacky belly. 

Harry uttered a ragged gasp. Louis’ fingers were like gentle rains on desert sands. Warmth blossomed out from the contact of their skin, spreading like leaking milk all over Harry’s body. The ache flared, a supernova inside him.

Louis tucked his fingers under Harry’s waistband once more.

“C-can I?” Louis asked, his voice fragile.

Harry couldn’t form words, he could only lick his lips and nod. Louis fumbled with his jeans’ button, shaking as he undid the zipper. When he opened Harry’s pants and shimmied them down, his nostrils flared and he bit his lower lip hard. Harry’s stretched boxers left little to the imagination. Louis looked at him in quiet awe.

“Lou,” Harry moaned as Louis ghosted his hand over the taught fabric, his fingers trembling.

“I wanna see you,” Louis gasped out, his voice hoarse. Gently, he tugged Harry’s boxers down to meet his jeans.

Harry felt incredibly exposed, intoxicatingly so. He could have come just from Louis’ stare, for his blue eyes were nearly black and his mouth hung slack in a slight ‘O’.

Mercifully, Louis touched him, spitting into his palm before enclosing him in his hand and tenderly exploring. Harry couldn’t help bucking up into his grip, his hips pumping involuntarily. It felt so good it almost hurt, and Harry’s skin began to feel like molten lava. In only a minute he yelped out Louis’ name, his eyes squeezing shut.

Louis continued to hold him as Harry peeked through his lashes and saw his mess coating Louis’ fingers. By the smile on his face, Louis had never been happier.

“Hey Haz,” Louis breathed, carefully releasing Harry and leaning down to kiss him. The sweetness of this action made Harry whimper, and he wanted to reciprocate. Curious but also mind-numbingly scared, Harry reached out and touched Louis’ hipbones, his fingers fiddling to find skin and not shirt, dipping down only slightly into plush softness before Louis’ muscles became firm and flexed with his every breath. Harry’s fingers could only tell him so much, though; he needed to see. He shimmied out from under Louis and clumsily scooted off the couch until he fell to the floor, then pushed Louis’ legs apart before him. 

Louis watched him closely, his fingers knotting nervously in his t-shirt, staining it. He stopped giggling and his smile faded. 

“You—you don’t have to, Harry,” Louis murmured almost inaudibly.

“I want to.”

Harry undid Louis’ pants and tugged them down around his knees, his boxers getting caught in them and coming too. Harry rested his hands on Louis’ bare thighs, his breath in his throat. He’d seen other boys naked, of course, but never like this. He’d never allowed himself to like it, to think how beautiful it was, and Louis _was_ beautiful; stunningly, heart-stoppingly, incredibly lovely, flushed a dusky rose and fully aroused and Harry had never seen anyone else like _that_. Louis’ body proved a revelation, a discovery like walking on the moon; gravity suddenly had no hold on him.

Harry did as Louis had and spit into his hand before he reached out shakily. 

“You’ll touch me, Harry?” Louis asked with a high whine.

Harry touched him for answer, his palm closing around the other boy. As Louis shuddered and writhed beneath him, Harry realized he’d found his life’s calling. It seemed unlikely God had purposely created him for this vocation, but nonetheless he excelled at it.

Louis grabbed fistfuls of Harry’s curls as he came, but he made no sounds of ecstasy, instead remaining silent, only his heavy breathing betraying him. Harry’s hand squelched in the slick that Louis had spattered against his fingers, and the sound affected Harry so much that he gave in to a sudden, desperate urge to taste and brought his sticky fingers to his mouth. He moaned as the warm drips touched his tongue, salty, musky, tangy against his taste buds like citrus and cinnamon.

When Harry glanced up at his best friend he found Louis watching him with utterly blown eyes, his hair rucked up in soft spikes from groveling back against the sofa. Harry crawled up to him and offered his lips. Louis kissed him, his mouth wonderfully steady and encompassing.

“I liked that, Hazza,” Louis whispered in his ear, one hand smoothing down Harry’s mess of curls.

“Really?” Harry basked in the praise.

“So really, Hazza.”

“I liked it too,” Harry said.

Careful of their tender bodies, Harry climbed on top of Louis and cuddled down. They rested sweat-sticky and exposed against each other, their hearts similarly naked, cradled against the other’s chest, delicate and tepid and full to bursting.


	22. Taste On My Tongue, Don't Wanna Wash Away

Anne commented one day, near the end of April, on Harry’s blooming happiness.

“You seem to be doing so much better with the stress of school, Harry, has something changed?”

Harry couldn’t tell her about the magic elixir of Louis’ lips, so he shrugged.

“I guess I’m just getting used to it.”

“It was a big adjustment for you, I know. But I’m glad you’re doing so well, honey.”

And Harry was doing well. Usually he and Louis could sneak away to their rooms after homework and be alone enough to warrant some risk-taking, at least for a few minutes. Louis had created an award system to make sure their grades didn’t drop and their parents become suspicious; for every completed class’s work, they got a kiss. For every hour of studying, they got something more. 

If Harry had changed noticeably, his transformation paled in comparison to Louis’ metamorphosis. Louis’ energy levels were off the charts, his exuberance so massive that even the twins often tired out before he did. Jay attributed Louis’ strides ever closer to flamboyance as spring fever, and giggled more than chided him when he would pop up behind her while she cooked, disrupting her ingredients whist kissing her garishly on the cheek.

The boys fell into an easy routine of friendship and affection, the transition from best friends to _best friends plus_ being the most natural thing they’d ever done. Most days they parted ways sated and well-kissed, thriving on the nourishment of each other.

On the last weekend of April, Lakeside’s youth group held a game night in the church basement, and as such things usually ran quite late, Harry had suggested Louis spend the night with him after. Their parents had agreed readily.

As soon as Anne and Robin shut their bedroom door, as they did when company stayed over, Louis crawled in with Harry.

“Mmm,” Louis said, curling tighter against him. Even when Louis’ cold feet found his calves, Harry relished the sensation.

“You’re freezing, Lou,” Harry whispered.

“I know. Won’t be for long,” Louis purred into Harry’s pajamas, his warm breath tickling the nape of Harry’s neck.

Everything felt safer with the lights off, and the darkness made Harry bolder. He shuffled around under the sheets until he lined up with Louis’ mouth, dipping in to kiss him.

Louis kissed him back fiercely. Harry had to stifle a groan.

“You’re—“ Louis panted out between snags of their lips, “incredible, Harry.”

In response Harry found Louis’ tongue. He wallowed in the warmth of their kiss, the slickness, how Louis’ lips seemed as rich as candied fruit edged in gold leaf.

Harry broke away, his pulse beating in spots behind his eyes.

“I wanna do something,” he stuttered out, breathless already as he ducked under the covers, squirming down until his feet stuck out the end of the bed.

“You want to what?” Louis asked, dazed.

Harry took comfort in the suffocating blankets. He carefully pulled Louis’ boxers down.

“Haz?” He heard Louis whisper from the pillow, his voice scratchy, tangled up in knots.

Harry did it before he lost his nerve. He closed his mouth around Louis; the taste alone stunned him, made him moan.

“Oh…” Louis squeaked; his hips squirmed, but his fingernails dug into the soft of Harry’s shoulders, grasping. 

Harry figured out how to breath through his nose under the dense heat of the blankets as Louis’ pulse beat out against his lips. Though he had no clue what to do, Louis’ growing shivers affirmed his instincts. Eventually Louis’ body tensed up and his breath became heavy and his thighs clenched around Harry.

“Ha—rry… I’m…” Louis’ voice was like pencil over parchment: scratchy, calming.

His fingers pulled at Harry’s curls now, warning Harry to get off, but how could he let go and loose the feeling of Louis throbbing so intimately inside his mouth? As the end drew ever nearer Louis only became more delectable.

Louis’ fingers loosened as he came. Harry gagged—unprepared for how the thick liquid would fill his mouth—and pulled away, his chin dripping. He swallowed it down, for lack of better options, and it burned his throat. He didn’t mind. Wiping off against Louis’ mangled boxers he crawled back up to the open air, panting. Louis stared at him with dark eyes and a shy smile.

“You really did that,” he whispered, petting Harry’s cheek.

“Did you like it?” Harry asked, half knowing, half needing to hear it said.

Louis nuzzled into his neck and pressed his lips to Harry’s ear. “You have no idea.” He paused, his whispers tickling. “No idea.”

Harry lounged in Louis’ flattery. As Louis slipped a hand under his boxers Harry squirmed closer and tried desperately to breath without moaning, smooshing his nose against Louis’ shoulder. Their pajamas were damp with sweat by the time Harry bit into the soft of Louis’ neck to keep from crying out. Louis kissed him gently as he came down, then trailed his sticky hand up Harry’s torso, under his nightshirt, finding the steady pulse of Harry’s heart and resting it there, splayed against his chest.

“When I touch you,” Louis said softly, “I can feel your heartbeat inside of mine.”

“I could feel yours on my lips,” Harry answered, smiling into the nibbling kiss he planted against Louis’ throat.

With a sharp breath, Louis went still.

“Lou?” Harry propped himself up and touched his own hand to Louis’ heart. “You okay?” He could feel his best friend’s telltale organ thumping away.

“Ya. I’m fine.” But his voice cracked, and when Harry reached up to stroke his cheek, he found tears there.

“You’re crying, Lou.”

“No, m’not,” Louis said stubbornly, sniffing.

Harry responded to this lie by kissing Louis’ forehead, letting his lips linger against his best friend’s hot skin.

“It’s just,” Louis sighed. “I never thought this would happen. I never thought I’d get to feel this, ever, but now—“ Louis choked back a hiccup, “Now I’ve felt it, I don’t think I can make do with anything else. That scares me, Haz.” 

Harry wrapped Louis in his arms and squeezed tightly. “But I’ll always be here. I’ll always make you feel it.”

Louis let out a sad little laugh. “Harry.” His tone changed then, becoming wistful, perhaps sad. “We’re living a lie, Haz, and we’re both terrible liars.”

“We don’t have to think about that.”

“But I do, Harry. It’s only a matter of time before someone figures it out. Or we slip up…”

“No, Lou, don’t say that. No one cares where we go or what we do ‘cause they know we’re best friends. And that’s not a lie! And our parents don’t suspect anything. We can just be like this _always_.” Harry so desperately wanted to believe his own words.

Louis squeezed him tighter. “I hope you’re right Hazza.”

“I am. Now kiss me you fool,” Harry giggled, finding Louis’ lips again in the dark.

*

Harry decided to shower Sunday night instead of Monday morning. He had kept touching his lips all day, marveling at what they’d done the night before. He felt like a walking billboard, complete with flashing lights and a neon sign that said, “This boy just gave a blowjob, and he loved it.” How he survived sitting next to Louis during Sunday school, he didn’t know. His only comfort was Louis’ likewise terrible pretence of normalcy. Perhaps he’d been right; they _were_ terrible liars.

Harry thought back to Sunday school as he leaned his head forward and let the shampoo wash down his face, the suds smearing into the corners of his mouth, tasting bitter. The irony that he should by all accounts wash his mouth out with soap hit him as he closed his lips tightly; no, he wanted Louis’ taste to linger forever.

When Pastor James had asked for prayer requests, Ben raised his hand first. Apparently his cousin, who attended Louis’ ‘second rate’ Christian school, had started a campaign for uniforms, a necessity due to a recent ‘incident’ that Bed did not elaborate on. Ben asked that everyone pray the campaign be successful, as clothing that mocked God shouldn’t have a place in a Christian environment.

Harry had turned to Louis with a questioning stare.

“Some kid wore a naughty shirt,” he whispered. When Harry still looked confused, he took Harry’s pen and wrote in tiny letters on the bulletin, _If you’re up my ass at least find my spot_.

Harry had blushed right then and there. Louis had smirked and continued,

“They made him change and wrote him up for detention, it was a big scandal.”

But Harry hadn’t blushed at the scandal of it, instead at the revelation that it might feel good to have something… up your ass. He’d always thought gay men had sex like that because you had to stick it _somewhere_. He’d always assumed only one partner enjoyed it. The Bible, in all its expletive mentions of sodomy, had completely left out this very important detail. 

Harry felt his face flush from both the hot water and his thoughts. In the isolation of the locked bathroom, with the steady water drowning out his senses, Harry let his mind drift to Louis. Unsurprisingly, he soon hardened against his thigh. He reached down and squeezed, imagining Louis’ hands touched him and not his own. But as he built he couldn’t stop wondering; what would it feel like to touch himself _back there_? He released his grip and slid his hands around to his tailbone, hesitating a moment before spreading his cheeks. This was the explicit sin God hated. And Harry continued anyway.

He jumped as he touched, unprepared for the sensitive nerve endings he found. The shower beat on against him, repetitive, reliable. Harry pressed lightly around his edge before very slowly pushing the tip of his finger in. The muscle held tightly at first, but eventually loosened and parted, and as it did Harry’s abs unclenched and his belly rounded outwards, relaxed and pregnant-looking.

He made an inhuman noise before he could stop himself. It hurt, yes, but Harry also felt ripe and needy, and just the slightest wiggle of his finger had him leaning against the shower wall for support. He ached. He desired to be opened, as if by being pushed apart he could feel complete and whole.

With the one hand still pressing inside himself he tended to his hardness with the other. In only ten strokes Harry splattered against the shower curtain with the force of a bullet, nearly collapsing with his release. He bit his lip hard, sudsing his luffa and washing himself thoroughly, not so immune to the guilt as he’d hoped. If sodomy felt that good, Harry needed to reevaluate everything he knew about gayness. And Harry guessed he hadn’t even found the ‘spot.’ 

Throughout dinner Harry grappled with the idea of sin. How could the same evil that caused murder and hatred and cruelty also bring him such pleasure? How could some sins be so beautiful?

_Beautiful sin_. That’s what he and Louis did together. Anne had always told Harry that wicked people swapped the joy of God’s love for sin. Sin substituted joy; criminals and evil-doers who had been robbed of happiness instead found fulfillment in sin. But according to her it was a poor trade, as nothing could compare with the contentment of knowing God. 

This blew a hole in her theory. What if sin was equally joyful, equally happy, and the Bible warned against it precisely because once you started, you could no longer tell the difference? Did God describe Satan as an angle of light for this reason? Was his greatest deceit making sin feel the same as goodness? And if so, had Harry really stooped to the level of a murderer or a hater, could he no longer tell the difference between the happiness that flowed through him and the deeds of wickedness?

As he lay in bed that night, tossing and turning, the words kept cycling in his head. _Beautiful sin, beautiful sin_. He and Louis had gone farther than ever before on Saturday night, and now Harry found himself wanting even more. Guilt chomped at Harry from one side, his desire from the other, and when they finally met at his center he disappeared inside both their maws and finally fell into a fitful sleep.


	23. "A Time To Weep..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the hard part starts, folks. Just FYI

Harry came home from school Monday in high sprits, despite his poor sleep the night before. Soon he would see Louis. He tossed his backpack on the table and threw together a lunchmeat sandwich, whistling.

The phone rang, but he took a bite anyway, assuming Anne or Robin would answer it. When they didn’t, he hurriedly skidded around the counter and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” Harry answered, tucking the phone under his ear as he tried to speak around his mouthful of mayonnaise and lettuce.

“Hellooo?” He tried again, half convinced he spoke to a telemarketing computer. They always called in the mid afternoon.

“Haz?”

Louis’ voice sounded scratchy and far too soft. Something was wrong.

“Lou? You okay?” 

Louis didn’t answer at first, but Harry could hear voices in the background.

“Hurry, please? Through my window, no one can see,” Louis whispered, then hung up.

It took Harry thirty seconds to understand, but when he did he dropped the rest of his sandwich on the counter and nearly fell in his hurry to reach the entranceway and pull on his sneakers. He dashed out the door and grabbed his bike from where he’d parked it along the side of the driveway. Pedaling so fast he practically flew down the street, Harry tried to stave off the sourness that curdled in his stomach.

He took four technically illegal short cuts and forgot to check traffic before crossing at least two streets. Being reckless didn’t matter to him; seconds were eternities, and he had to get to Louis. He had to know.

When he finally turned down Louis’ street he saw both Jay and Mark’s cars parked in the driveway. He circled around to the back yard and dumped his bike under a neighbors’ lilac bush before jumping the Tomlinson’s fence in one go. He ran along the side of the yard and pulled himself onto the squatty garage that would bring him to Louis’ window. The garage’s shingles were old and flakey, making silent creeping difficult. Compounding matters, Harry had only entered Louis’ room like this once before, when Louis had accidentally locked them out.

Thanksfully, Louis’ window stood open, cracked just wide enough for Harry to fit inside.

“Lou?” He whispered, draping his long legs in and bending his torso to follow.

Louis’ room was empty. Harry contemplated what to do for a moment before finally deciding to just sit on Louis’ bed and wait. He could hear voices downstairs, though he couldn’t hear Louis’ distinctive tone. Suddenly, running footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later Louis flung his door open-and-shut in one motion, leaning back against it as if it separated him from the dinosaurs.

“Lou?” Harry asked, more in shock than mis-identification, because dried blood crusted Louis’ lip, his left eye shone black and purple, tear tracks salted his cheeks, his hair looked like a tornado had caught it, and his face had stained a horrible blotchy shade of russet. 

“Hide,” he whispered, his voice high and urgent, so Harry ducked and dived under the bed. No sooner had he done so than Louis’ door opened again and Harry heard Mark’s voice.

“Sit down, young man.”

Harry felt the bed dip above him. Louis’ bare feet tapped against the floor inches from his nose.

He heard a long, indrawn breath. “I never thought I raised such a selfish son.”

“Dad, please,”

“No, Louis, there’s no please this time. Did you see your mother? Did you see the pain on her face? How could you do this to her, Louis.”

“Dad, no-o-o-o-,” Louis’ began hiccupping as he started to cry.

“What on earth are you thinking,” Mark said, and Harry imagined him shaking his head.

“I thought—I thought,” Louis voice got stronger, steadier, “I thought Craig deserved it, Dad, that’s what I thought.”

“You think I care about you fighting at school, Louis?”

Louis sniffed. “No.”

“You just announced to the whole senior class that you’re a homosexual.”

“I—I—“

“Why would you do that? Why would you say that?”

There was a pregnant pause. Harry felt the mattress shift.

“Because I am. I’m gay.”

Louis’ voice did not waver. His tone stayed steady and clear as a bell.

“I’ve got news for you, you’re not. No son of mine is a homosexual. No son of God is a homosexual. This is not happening, Louis, do you understand? I’m not letting you break your mother’s heart and destroy this family.”

He paused. Louis made not a sound. “Do you understand me?”

“Dad, it’s not—“

“It’s demonic, Louis. These thoughts, this… whatever this is that’s suddenly made you think this way. Your thinking is warped. You will snap out of it. You will act like an adult and you will stop this immediately.”

Harry felt wetness on his fingers and realized he’d been crying, his tears dripping down to where he pressed himself against the floor. 

“I—“ Louis hesitated. “I can’t just stop it, dad. It’s who I _AM_.” Louis’ pleading voice held so much hope. 

“Then we’ll get you help.”

“Dad,” Louis whimpered, the tremor in his voice beginning again, the sobs coming back, softer now, “Dad please.”

“Is this what you want, Louis? To live a life of sin? To turn your back on the God who created you? Who loves you? Who sacrificed himself on the cross to save you and offer you eternal life? You’re just willing to throw that all away because you’ve been brainwashed by the media and this Godless culture to think that this it normal? You want to go live like one of these floosies on the streets wearing dresses and getting aids?”

Mark’s voice rose incrementally, until by the end he shouted, his words reverberating around Louis’ room. Harry felt the mattress shift again.

“I never meant… I don’t want to turn—“ hiccup, “my back—“ sob, “On anything dad! I just… this is me!”

The room grew too silent, and Harry stopped breathing for fear of giving himself away.

“You decide, Louis. You sit and think about it, and you come down and let me know who the real you is. A fruitcake, or my son.”

Harry heard Mark’s footsteps recede and the door close behind him.

Instantly he squirmed out from under the bed, grabbed Louis into his arms, and held him so tightly that neither of them could properly breathe. But that didn’t matter. They needed their bones to crush together.

Louis sobbed silently into his neck, his skin hot and feverish against Harry’s.

“I’m so dumb,” Louis whispered in between sobs, “Craig is such a jerk and I—when he started joking about homos, making fun of the kid who wore the shirt, I just—because the kid started crying and—I told him—that being gay was better than being a bully and—and then he said how would you know and—“

Harry squeezed him impossibly tighter.

“I just said well I’m gay and he—he started laughing at me and he—he called me—and I just couldn’t do it, Harry, I just punched him and we got in this awful fight in front of the whole gym class and—“

Louis tucked deeper into Harry’s neck, his mouth open, leaking tears and snot and spit onto Harry’s shirt, his sharp white teeth digging in a soundless scream against Harry’s pulse.

“They hauled me in and called mom and I’m on probation and—Oh Hazza…” Louis sobbed, “I’ve ruined everything.”

Harry just held him; he didn’t know what else to do. He would take the pain and anguish, he would take it all from Louis, but he didn’t know how. If life were a novel Harry would have skipped to the next chapter where everything turned out all right. A terrible numbness filled him as he came to terms with their new reality.

Harry tugged Louis from him gently and looked into his anguished face. His blue eyes stood out starkly, rimmed as they were in black and red.

“I don’t know what to do, Lou. I don’t know how to fix this,” Harry admitted.

“There’s only one thing to do, Haz.” Louis looked at him tenderly, just like he did when Harry didn’t understand a dirty joke or naively missed some obvious explanation. Louis wiped away his tears and squared his shoulders.

“I have to not be gay,” Louis said, tucking a stray curl behind Harry’s ear.

“But…” Harry indeed didn’t understand.

“S’all play acting, Haz. I’ll do what they want. I’ll say what they want to hear. I bet they’ll make me go to some group at church.” Louis exhaled sharply. “And I’ll do it, Haz. Everyone’s happy then. I’m strong enough. I’ll be okay.”

Louis straitened a bit more, then repeated himself. “I’ll be okay.”

Harry swiped at his stupid eyes, which were leaking once again. “Lou…” He felt helpless, terrified, mangled up inside. But he had to be strong for Louis. He had to be.

“I’ll always—no, look at me, Harry,” Louis took Harry’s face in his hands, “I’m yours. Always. Nothing will change. We’re forever, okay?”

Harry fell against him again and just held on. He could do little else.

Louis insisted he leave then, rather than risk discovery. With a sickness in his stomach he kissed Louis desperately before clambering back down the garage roof. He could imagine Louis’ calm face and stoic resolve as he walked down the stairs to face his parents, to tell them he didn’t want to be gay, that he wanted to obey God.

Harry picked up his bike, dizzy with fear, already seeing spots along the pavement. As he headed home he pedaled ever faster, determined to outrun the question that seared into his brain: what were they going to do now?

*  
Somehow hours passed and turned into a day. Harry went through the motions of normalcy, but his veneer slipped on Tuesday afternoon in the dusty calm of Mr. Sheeland’s art room.

Harry hurried to blot his teardrops up with a paper towel. At least they mixed with the watercolor.

“Harry?”

Of course Zayn had seen.

“You’ve not been okay all day. Is there anything I can do?”

The class had mostly emptied and Mr. Sheeland sat at his desk in the far corner.

Perhaps it would be good to tell someone. Zayn’s concern alone soothed Harry remarkably. “My… friend,” Harry started, knowing Zayn could read between his lines, “His parents found out.”

“They found out that he’s…” Zayn raised his eyebrows, and Harry nodded. His warm brown eyes gazed sympathetically at Harry. “And they don’t accept him?”

“Ya. He has to go to counseling at church and stuff.”

Zayn blinked in surprise. “They’re sending him to conversion therapy?”

“No, no, It’s just counseling, that’s all it would be. They just don’t want him to be—gay.”

“But that _is_ …” Zayn’s voice trailed off. “Nevermind. Are you okay though? And him?”

“I’m fine. Nothing’s happened to me. No one even knows about me.” Harry paused, wiping at his eyes. “He said he’ll be fine. He said it’s all just acting, you know, convincing them.”

“I see.” Zayn laid a hand over Harry’s comfortingly. “You know if you need anything, or if your friend needs anything, I’m here. I mean that, Harry.”

Zayn’s offer touched him and he felt more tears stinging at his eyes.

“Thanks Zayn,” he said, giving the other boy a small smile.

The bell rang, and Zayn nodded to him as he gathered his backpack and headed out. Harry felt a little less alone.

 

By Thursday Harry still hadn’t heart from Louis. He’d tried calling, but consistently got the Tomlinson’s answering machine, and of course he couldn’t leave a message. Worry had been eating him up inside, and he could barely sleep. Anne and Robin had noticed Louis’ absence, but Harry brushed this off as a result of Louis’ crazily involved senior projects. He’d thought about sneaking into Louis’ room again, but it seemed such a huge risk, and he didn’t want to get Louis in even more trouble.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry decided to visit Louis like nothing had happened. Jay and Mark didn’t know he knew, and maybe, with any luck, Mark had calmed down and the storm had blown over. Maybe Louis had been successful at lying. At any rate, he couldn’t just sit home and do nothing but worry. After school, Harry dropped his backpack off, gave a quick explanation to Anne (who didn’t blink an eye at his announcement), and hopped on his bike.

The Tomlinson’s house seemed suddenly foreboding and Harry felt quite nervous wrapping on the door he’d walked through a hundred times before. He got no answer. After waiting a few seconds, he knocked again. Finally he heard the screen creak and Jay pulled the door open.

“Hi Mrs. Tomlinson,” Harry hurried out, “Is Louis home?”

He tried hard to keep his voice level, to make his inflections sound normal and not contrived. Jay smiled at him, sympathy in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Harry, he’s not able to hang out today. I’m sorry you biked all this way,” she said, her fingers tapping a little on the doorframe.

“Is he busy? I can come back later,” Harry offered.

“He won’t be able to see you at all today, dear. I’m sorry.” And Jay did indeed sound sorry. Her eyes were moist and her lip trembled just like Louis’ did before he began to cry.

“What about tomorrow?” Harry pressed, desperate, sick to his stomach. The ache had become a python, strangling his spine, rendering him nearly incoherent with frustration and fear. He had to see Louis, he had to.

“Harry, I…” Jay’s voice trailed off and she sighed, looking off somewhere past his ear. “Louis has been grounded. He’s not allowed any visitors for a while.”

Harry’s tongue went dry. He tried to swallow, unsuccessfully. “Oh. For how long?”

Jay shook her head at him, her face full of bafflement, perhaps a tinge of exasperation, as if she’d heard the question a hundred times before. “I don’t know, Harry. You’d have to ask Mark.”

“Then can I call Lou?” Harry asked, perhaps a bit of his desperation leaking into his voice.

Jay let out a laugh, a sad sort of outburst that had her immediately covering her mouth with her hand and blinking back tears.

“You don’t give up, do you, Harry?” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder fondly. “I don’t think that’s for the best right now, darling. But I’ll let you know right away when it’s over, alright?”

It was not alright. Harry wanted to squirm past her that moment and hurtle up the stairs to Louis’ side.

“Oh. Okay,” he said, his head hanging in anguishing disappointment. Then, because he couldn’t stop himself, because some part of him wanted to make her say it, make it real, Harry asked, “What’d he do that was so bad?”

Jay didn’t answer. Her face began to grow red and Harry could see her struggling not to let it twist up in tears. She clutched at her collarbone and blinked rapidly up at the sky.

“You should go home now, Harry. I’ll call your mom and let her know you’re headed back, okay? Thanks, darling.”

Jay patted his shoulder once again, then closed the door softly in his face.

Harry stood on the stoop for a time, his heart swooping in five different directions. Finally, as if he’d been programmed to, he picked up his bike and headed home. Everything felt so hopeless.

*

Eventually another quick phone call ended the drought. At four-thirty on Friday Harry answered the phone, implying to Anne that he spoke to a telemarketer. Louis whispered, “You know the patch of woods behind the old train station? By the quarry? No streetlights there. Meet me, midnight.” 

Harry counted the hours, the minutes, the seconds. Finally at eleven-thirty he tiptoed down the edges of the stairs and crept out the back door. Unable to get his bike from the garage without causing massive amounts of noise, he decided to jog. Before going three houses down two yellow eyes accosted him and Harry nearly screamed, hurrying to flick on his flashlight. The stray black cat stared up at him, its tail waving back and forth. Harry took a deep breath and brushed past the feline, but the creature trotted alongside him, even following him into the brambles of the small forest. As Harry waited for Louis the cat waited with him, only ambling away into the night as Harry heard footsteps approaching.

“Lou!” Harry flat out ran towards him. Louis opened his arms and Harry plowed in, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“Hey there, Haz. Careful, you’re gonna squish me!”

“Sorry,” Harry pulled back a little, licking his lips before he dove them against Louis too.

They kissed and kissed, sweet and supple and hungry and wet, until the air around them smelled like the desire beading on their skin.

“I’ve missed you so much, Lou,” Harry murmured, drinking him in.

“It’s only been five days, Harry,” Louis teased, rubbing along his spine, but his words were too jovial, too carefree, and Harry could tell they were an act.

“I know, but…” Harry’s forehead creased up as he stepped away and observed Louis.

Even in the milky darkness of moonlight Louis looked awful. The bruise around his eye had only worsened, accentuating his pink, puffy eyelids, and his hair hung slightly greasy and limp.

“Are you okay, Lou?” Harry knew, but he asked anyway.

“I’m fine, Haz. Don’t worry about me.”

“Lou,” Harry moaned, reaching out gently to fix his fringe. It flopped loose and lifeless against his forehead. “Please don’t lie. What’s been happening?”

Louis sighed, his breath shaky. “Not much, honestly. I’m in my room most of the time. Mark grounded me, in case you didn’t figure that out. And they started sending me to sessions at church. But I knew they would, I expected that. It’s not so bad, really.”

Harry pretended to not hear the pain in his tone.

“But what’re they saying? No one’s like, hurting you, right? No one’s—”

“Shhhh, Harry. None of that. I’m fine. I just have to sit through lectures and verses and stuff. And I don’t really want to talk about it. I want to kiss you.”

Harry welcomed his lips, but carefully untangled himself and continued nonetheless.

“But… you don’t look so good,” he said gently, again running a hand through Louis’ hair.

Louis pursed his lips. “Mom’s been crying a lot. The girls don’t understand what’s going on. The meetings aren’t so bad, Haz, it’s just my mom and sisters. It’s been hard on them.”

“Has she said anything?” Harry asked, thinking of his own conversation with Jay.

“No. That’s just it. She hasn’t really spoken to me since Monday. She just looks at me and starts crying.” Louis crossed his arms in front of his chest, holding his biceps. “Don’t ever do it, Harry.”

Harry could see the tears leaking from his eyes, and he regretted pushing for answers.

“Do what?”

“Tell your mom. Don’t ever, it’s not worth it. Don’t be an idiot like me and throw everything away.”

Harry grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close. “Louis, that’s not true. You can’t say stuff like that. You’re the bravest person I know. You’re a lot braver than me.”

Louis shook his head, not looking up at him. “I’m not. I’m going along with all this, aren’t I? I’m lying to keep lying.” He took in a long breath.

“I’m gay,” Harry said, soft, but sure. Louis’ face grew gentle and he met Harry’s eyes.

“You’re…”

“Gay. I’m gay, Louis. I’m just like you. You’re not…” it sounded so dumb in Harry’s head but he said it anyway. “You’re not gay alone.”

Harry’s words seemed to cut through the night crickets on their ascent to the sky. He hoped God heard, hoped someone important did, because everyone needed to know. He wanted to mark his name beside Louis’, be that in heaven or hell.

Louis stared at him a moment, his mouth slack. Then the smallest hint of a smile came to his lips.

“That makes it a bit better,” he finally said, drawing Harry in for another kiss.

Harry had chosen a side; he’d chosen the boy in his arms. In the end, what other choice did he have?


	24. A Mad Tea Party

Harry sped through his morning routine on Sunday, massively eager to leave for church. As he’d hoped, though Louis’ grounding kept him from youth group, it didn’t extend to Sunday school, and they were able to see each other normally for an hour.

Louis immediately sat them down in the far corner of the room, out of everyone else’s earshot. He pressed his leg against Harry and nudged their shoes together.

“Hey,” he whispered, opening his Bible deliberately in case anyone watched.

“Hi,” Harry replied, already breathing easier just with Louis beside him.

“You survive a whole day without me?” Louis said with a lilt, trying his best to be funny.

Harry blinked solemnly at him. “No, not really.”

Louis’ face fell and his eyelashes fluttered as he looked down to his lap. “I know. Me either. We’ll meet again soon, I promise Haz, I just have to be careful of Mark’s work schedule, make sure he’s home early any nights we do it. Gosh.” Louis took a deep breath. “Look what we’ve become, Harry, actual delinquents.”

Harry wanted so badly to hold him, to kiss him, to comfort him. Slowly he slid his hand down between their hips. Louis copied him, and for a brief moment they linked pinkies.

“I’d be anything with you,” he whispered as Pastor James closed the classroom door and everyone quieted down and turned their attention to the front of the room.

They had no more time to talk, and the Tomlinson’s left quickly after the main service. Harry saw the back of Louis’ head disappear out the sanctuary doors and he nearly started crying with the pain of not saying goodbye. He didn’t know when he’d see Louis again, or how. Anne noted his sullen disposition on the ride home and suggested they stop at Harry’s favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch.

Though Robin and Anne tried their hardest to cheer him up, Harry only mustered a wimpy smile when his sweet and sour chicken arrived. As he forced himself to take several bites, he saw his mom whisper to Robin, thinking he couldn’t hear her across the table. But Harry had excellent ears. She thought his present sulk a result of being overworked at school.

The next two days Anne asked him at every opportunity how he felt, how school had been, what tests he had coming up, and whether he would be taking a break to see Louis that day. No, he’d reply, not meeting her eyes. Louis had senior projects. Louis still had senior projects.

As they pulled into the driveway after school on Thursday, Anne turned to Harry and announced, “I have a surprise for you today, honey.”

Harry swallowed. “A surprise?”

“It should be here shortly. I suggest you change out of your gym clothes.”

Harry did as she instructed, moving in slow motion until he heard three car doors close and a chorus of high-pitched squeals coming from their driveway. He nearly fell down the stairs in his haste.

“Harry!”

The twins accosted him first, both little girls running to him and throwing their arms tight around his legs. Lottie and Fizzy waved eagerly, and Harry noticed they were all wearing dresses. Louis hung back with Jay, his jaw tight as he watched his sisters cling to Harry, jolting when Jay nudged him gently.

“Louis, your shoes, darling,” she said, and Louis forced a smile.

“Right, my shoes.” Louis bent and slipped them off, still oddly tense in the threshold of a house he basically considered his second home.

Anne appeared from the kitchen just then. “Are you lovely ladies ready for tea?” She asked, her face beaming. The girls giggled and jumped for answer.

“They’ve talked of nothing else for two days strait.” Jay smiled warmly, handing Anne a plate of cookies. “The twins wanted to contribute, but I wouldn’t eat any if I were you. Louis said he helped them, but I’m not sure that’s much comfort.” She winked at her son.

Jay’s teasing usually caused Louis to flail around dramatically in protest, or perhaps begin wailing with fake tears of wounded pride, but not this time. Louis stared at his mother as if she’d just admitted to seeing bigfoot; then, gradually, a tiny smile grew on his face, reaching his eyes and crinkling them delightfully.

“Don’t worry, mom, I really did check the labels, I promise.” He said this sincerely, not a drop of theatricality in his tone, and he looked at Jay earnestly, as if her approval meant the world to him.

As Harry watched, he realized that perhaps it did. 

Louis’ response clearly took Jay aback, but she said nothing more, chatting with Anne as they headed to the kitchen where the little girls had already started bickering over who would sit where at the table.

“This is a tea party?” Harry asked, quick to step closer as their moms entered the other room.

“I have no clue where your mom got the idea, but she called up Monday night and invited us.”

“I do. She thinks I’m stressing about school.”

“Then keep stressing about school, ‘kay? I’ve begun to really hate my room.”

Harry nodded, walking slightly behind Louis as they made their way to the dining room table. Anne had laid out great-grandma’s china, and the girls were gaping over the fancy cloth napkins that she’d folded into flowers.

“Girls, we have three types of tea. Plain Lipton, lavender chamomile, or orange spice.” Anne deposited three separate teapots, complete with cozies, on the table. Platters of various cookies and finger sandwiches surrounded them, complimented by a plate of scones that smelled right out of the oven.

“I want orange!” Phoebe called.

“Please,” Jay corrected her.

“Please,” Phoebe repeated.

“I think the gentlemen can serve the tea. If you’d be so kind, Harry, Louis?” Anne took a seat and spread her napkin across her lap as she smiled at Harry.

Harry dimpled despite the ache’s constant stabbing in his chest. He poured the Lipton, Louis the other two. Once they’d served their moms and the girls, Louis turned to Harry.

“And what type of tea would you like, sir?” He asked, a bit of jolliness shining in his eyes.

Harry wanted Lipton—he liked milk and honey in his tea and that never tasted very good with the more exciting flavors—but he asked politely for lavender just to have Louis’ hands close to his cup.

The girls were in heaven, primly passing the sugar bowl and honey jar between them as they clinked their spoons against the delicate china. Lottie bit into a Mexican wedding cake, one of Anne’s most famous cookies, usually only brought forth at Christmas.

“These are wonderful, Mrs. Twist,” she complimented, the powdered sugar leaving a tiny mustache above her lip.

“I knew they were Louis’ favorite, so,” Anne said, smiling at Louis, who had just stuffed another one in his mouth.

Louis glanced first to Anne, then to his mom, and Harry didn’t mean to watch, but he couldn’t help it. When Louis’ eyes fell on Jay she met them at first but then quickly averted her gaze. Louis’ eyes stayed on her, though, and behind them hung a terrible, desperate pleading that only Harry witnessed.

He tried to ease Louis’ pain. “Guys, what did the farmer say to his cows at night?”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “I refuse to guess. This is supposed to be a fancy tea, Harry.”

“He said moooooove to bed!” Daisy yelled.

“That’s stupid,” Fizzy elbowed her younger sister lightly.

“Felicite, what did we say about that word?” Jay reprimanded her, shaking her head.

“Sorry, mom.”

“But what did he say?” Phoebe begged, spewing scone all over the tablecloth.

Louis immediately scooped up Phoebe’s plate and held it beneath her mouth, catching the falling crumbs. He grabbed her napkin as well and dusted off her chin before raising his eyebrows at her.

“Mouth closed when you chew, princess,” Louis reminded, scraping her mess from the tablecloth into his hand before depositing it on his own plate.

Two things happened in quick succession: Jay coughed and covered her mouth with her napkin, and Louis’ immediately turned to his mom in concern. Jay hastily stood, garbling out some excuse about needing water, but Harry could see, by the way her face grew red and blotchy and how she blinked too fast and looked decidedly away from Louis, that she’d started to cry.

Anne, none the wiser to the situation, stood to help Jay, but Louis sunk back in his chair, hollow, as if someone had deflated all the air from him. Harry’s ache burned, but he could do nothing to comfort Louis. He couldn’t even reach his foot under the table.

“He said it’s pasture bedtime,” Harry revealed softly, wishing, hoping Louis would look up.

When he did, tears were shining in his eyes, but not spilled over. He sniffed and gave Harry a small smile.

“That’s a particularly bad one, Harold.”

“I know.” Harry let his eyes linger as Jay and Anne came back from the kitchen. He wanted to jump across the table and take Louis in his arms; he wanted to kiss away Louis’ tears, the worry lines nestled on his forehead. If only they could touch, let their pulses race against each other.

“Harry, did I miss the punch line?” Jay startled him from his reverie. Worse, she’d caught him staring, and when he guiltily met her eyes, he knew. He knew she knew.

“The farmer said it’s past your bedtime, but I don’t get it,” Daisy offered, stabbing down at her scone, cracking it into crumbles.

“Pasture, like a pasture cows eat in, stu—silly,” Fizzy explained, catching herself just in time.

They finished the tea party and played one board game with the girls as Anne and Jay cleared up. Lottie won, as neither Harry or Louis could focus. A horrible fear had crept into Harry’s heart and he strained to hear every word said between their mothers as they placed sweets in Tupperwares. He jumped at the slightest laugh and became scared to even look in Louis’ direction; he still did, though, because he couldn’t bear not to. He missed his best friend to near mania.

When the Tomlinson’s finally loaded into their van, Harry and Anne went outside to see them off, Anne taking the opportunity to pick several peonies from the bushes outside their front door.

“Anne, since I’m here, do you think I could borrow that plastic tub Robin cut from your old rain barrel? I need to soak some sweet corn and I realized I don’t have a large enough bucket,” Jay asked.

“Of course, I think he put in the garage somewhere.” Anne made to fetch it.

“Harry can get it for me. Louis, please buckle the girls in, I’ll just be a minute.”

Harry swallowed as Anne went back to her peonies. Louis grew very stiff, but he did as he was told, situating the rambunctious, sugar-high twins in the backseat.

Jay didn’t speak until Harry had opened the garage door and led her inside. As he emptied the barrel of the tools Robin had stashed there, she began.

“This is for the best, Harry. For you both.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

“Harry.” She clasped his arm, her grip shaky. “I’m not blind.”

Harry froze, sniffing back an attack of tears. “You never told me what he did.”

Jay loosened her grip only slightly. “I don’t think I need to tell you, darling.” A horrible sadness came to her tone, and her lip trembled.

“You’re the same, you know,” Harry said, not knowing where he got the courage. “He thinks he has to be strong for you, too. He loves you more than—anything.” Harry wrenched his arm away, a little bitterness slipping into his tone. He finally freed the barrel and picked it up.

Jay bit back tears. “Mark believes that with enough prayer, this will pass. You’ll both grow up, Harry, and things will change. You’re so young right now. You’ll both change, I promise you.”

“But it’s hurting him.” Harry blinked furiously.

“God will give him peace, Harry, we have to believe that. We have to. He’ll give you peace too,” Jay suggested, patting Harry’s arm again. “He is a loving God.”

Harry understood then that the words she said weren’t her own; they were parroted back as a mantra, as an assurance she used to convince herself of their truth. He could see the doubt in her eyes, and he realized that her constant tears of late were prompted not by Louis’ confession, but by the knowledge of who he’d always been. Jay now saw that Louis’ marked path of redemption meant a loss of the boy she’d always loved terribly, and she grieved to see him destroyed. That’s why she couldn’t look at her son anymore without crying.

Harry wanted to scream at her, scream at the motes floating in the dusty garage air. No loving God would demand this, would He?

“But you love him, too,” Harry said softly.

Jay stood silently for a moment. “I’m not going to tell your mother, Harry. But this is for the best. You both need some space.”

Jay took the tub from him and headed back along the driveway. Louis had started her van.

As the Tomlinson’s drove away and Anne went back inside with her cluster of flowers, Harry touched the flesh of his side where the ache rippled in him. He thought maybe it had turned into a tangible wound, but no. Utterly heartsick, Harry crumpled on the grass next to Anne’s peonies and let his tears flow.


	25. That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken

Harry didn’t see Louis again until Sunday. The hour-long class passed too quickly, and Harry didn’t hear a word Pastor James said. He focused instead on Louis’ breath, wondering if any other sound in the world could come close to matching its gentleness. Once again they linked pinkies and pressed their legs close, and brazenly, when Pastor James closed in prayer, Louis took Harry’s hand and kissed the center of his palm for a brief moment. Harry responded by nudging his foot around Louis’ leg beneath their metal folding chairs.

They made tentative plans to meet on Monday in the thicket, if all went as expected. Louis would either be there by midnight, or he’d been unable to sneak out. Harry had strict instructions not to wait for him if he didn’t arrive.

They sat with their families for service, and after, like the week before, the Tomlinsons left quickly. Harry caught Louis’ gaze as he walked from his pew, though, and said goodbye with his eyes as best he could. Louis nodded at him, almost imperceptibly.

As Anne and Robin chatted with the various churchgoers around them, Harry saw Pastor James approaching. The plump man stopped to shake several hands along the way, but seemed to be headed strait towards them. Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, poking Anne’s arm in hopes she’d move from their pew and let him escape down the aisle, but he was too late.

“Robin, Anne,” Pastor James greeted, “I haven’t seen you folks in a while! How is everything?”

“Fine, fine,” Robin said, shaking his hand heartily. “Nothing to complain about. Work’s been good, and Harry’s doing well in school. Enjoying your class quite a bit too, I hear,” Robin added, chuckling.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you all about. Do you think you could spare a few minutes in my office?”

Anne turned to Harry with questions in her eyes. Harry felt the blood drain from his face, but he just shrugged.

“Of course,” Anne replied, “Harry isn’t in any trouble, is he?” She said it jokingly, but Harry wondered if a real fear lay behind her sentiment.

“No, no, no, nothing like that.”

They all three followed Pastor James through the crowded lobby to his office, making slow progress as people offered Sunday greetings and polite hellos. When they finally entered the small, curtained room, Harry jolted in surprise. Ben Winston sat in one of the chairs, flanked by his parents, clearly awaiting their arrival.

Pastor James took a seat behind his desk and motioned Harry and his parents to sit as well.

“Robin, Anne, do you know Ben?” He asked.

“Certainly. Hello Marsha, Tom,” Anne greeted Ben’s parents. Harry vaguely recalled that Marsha and Anne were in the same Bible study group, and more than just acquaintances.

“This is a rather delicate problem, I’m afraid, but the Lord has laid it on Ben’s heart to tell you.”

Anne looked from James to Ben. “Is this something to do with Harry?”

Harry had already bitten his cheek so forcefully that blood now leaked onto his tongue.

“Indirectly, yes,” Ben said. “I really appreciate you listening, Mr. and Mrs. Twist. I told my parents, and Pastor James, and they agreed with me that I should come to you with this. The Holy Spirit wouldn’t let me rest.”

Robin braced his hands on his knees, and Anne looked as if she expected a murder confession.

“Go ahead, son,” Robin prompted as Marsha patted Ben’s arm reassuringly. The dark haired boy took a deep breath.

“My cousin, Craig, goes to the same school as Louis Tomlinson. A couple weeks ago, he and Louis got in a fight. Craig was defending himself because—“ Ben paused and swallowed, shaking his head, “—Because Louis had propositioned him. Several kids who witnessed it confirmed that during the fight Louis said he was a homosexual.”

Complete silence filled the little office. Harry felt his hands begin to tremble. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t. 

“What?” Anne said, her eyebrows rising.

“I didn’t want to believe it either, Mrs. Twist, because Louis is my brother in Christ. But…” Ben turned to James then.

“When Ben came to me with this story I asked Pastor Ron for guidance. It turns out Louis has been seeking confidential counseling with the church elders.”

“For—that?” Robin asked, sputtering in shock. “That doesn’t seem like the Louis we know.”

“Sometimes those closest to us have hidden struggles,” Pastor James suggested.

“I don’t mean to cause problems, I really don’t, and I wouldn’t have said anything, but I know how close Harry is to Louis. The Lord just burdened my heart for you, Harry. I would feel responsible if something happened to you because I’d kept silent.”

Anne’s hand had come up to cover her mouth. Robin stared down at the floor. Harry met Ben’s eyes, though, and in his gaze he poured all the malice and hatred of his 130 pound body. There was no mistaking the slight turn up around the corners of Ben’s lips and Harry wanted to break every one of his strait white teeth.

“Honey,” Anne grasped Harry’s arm comfortingly. “We had no idea, did we Robin? I can hardly believe it.”

“No idea at all. How sad. Do his parents know then?” Robin asked.

“Yes, though they’ve asked that it not be made public knowledge. I thought this warranted an exception.”

Anne nodded her thanks to Pastor James. “We appreciate it. Thank you, Ben, that was very brave of you.”

Marsha squeezed her son’s shoulder. “It’s been weighing on him a lot.”

“What a hard secret to have,” Anne sympathized, her fingers still around Harry’s arm. 

Harry tried to swallow but bile had built up in his throat and he couldn’t.

“This being said, I think close male friends are more a stumbling block to Louis than a help at this moment. I don’t think Louis is malicious, obviously, but I wouldn’t want Harry to go through that. I’ve seen what such influences can do and it’s very, very hard to recover from.” Pastor James nodded gravely.

“Definitely,” Robin agreed, “That’s a wise suggestion.”

“I’m praying for Louis, Pastor James, and if there’s anything else I can do,” Ben said earnestly.

“You know, that’s the comfort in this hard situation. The Lord hears all our prayers and He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness if we simply come to him and confess with a tender heart. Louis is supported at home and in our church, and I know many people are ministering to him in this time of trial.”

“Let’s all pray for Louis before we leave,” Robin suggested, garnering a nod of fatherly approval from Tom.

Pastor James led them, closing his eyes.

“Lord, we lift up Louis to you today. Open his heart, and help him to be receiving of Your Word and Your unending love and grace. Help him to realize that you created us fearfully and wonderfully, with an intent and purpose that You’ve outlined clearly in Your Word. Help him to understand that he has a choice, and that he can overcome this temptation with Your help. Finally, Father, we ask that you would give us all compassion and understanding towards him in this time, and use us to help Louis find Your plan for his life. We pray all this in Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Harry couldn’t open his eyes. Too many tears were being held in by his tightly squished lashes. He felt Anne pulling him gently up from his chair.

“Honey?” She asked as the office emptied. Harry finally pried his eyes open. The room swam blurrily in his vision.

He knew in an instant he was going to be sick. Holding a hand over his mouth he ran from the office and across the now-empty foyer to the men’s bathroom. He fumbled to a stall and heaved into the toilet, acid and half-digested cereal issuing not just from his mouth, but from his nose. His bucks were so forceful that he flecked the back wall with brown chunks. He couldn’t stop vomiting, and each lurch might as well have been the expulsion of a demon for all the pain it caused him.

Finally his stomach stilled. Everything burned. The smell of acid and rot permeated his every sense. He grabbed handfuls of toilet paper and wiped up the mess. When he opened the stall to go wash his face, he found Robin standing there, worry blanketing his face.

“Harry. Son,” he said, guiding Harry towards the sinks with a hand on his shoulder.

Harry had no strength left.

“Wash it off a little, and we’ll get you home. You’re alright, Harry, you’re okay.”

Harry splashed the cool water over his face, the snot and puke sliding down his skin to the drain. Nothing soothed the burn but the smell grew better.

Anne wrapped Harry in her arms the moment he stepped outside the bathroom. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry, Honey. This must be so hard for you, losing your best friend.”

Harry didn’t sob. He didn’t even feel the ache, because it had taken over his whole being and he had no normalcy to compare it to. Tears slipped from his eyes silently as he followed Anne and Robin to the car.

*  
Harry had no way of telling Louis about this latest development, and shamefully, he preferred it that way. He felt very cowardly about letting Anne and Robin believe his reaction had been fueled by the shock of Louis’ homosexuality. But what other option did he have? Admit to them that he’d cried all afternoon because he so desperately loved Louis that every moment spent away from him felt like excruciating torture?

Harry tried to continue on. He went to school on Monday with grim resolve, his eyes still puffy from the day before. Zayn noticed, of course, but instead of asking Harry questions he moved his things and came to sit directly beside Harry for the duration of art class, periodically showing him the progress of his new illustrations and touching Harry’s shoulder gently. This gave Harry some sort of peace, and when Zayn did the same the next two days, Harry tried to express the depth of his gratitude.

“Um, thanks for, um.” Harry felt tears coming on again. Couldn’t his body do anything but cry?

“Don’t thank me, Harry, it’s not a problem. I’m your friend, ya?” Zayn rustled in his backpack and pulled out a shiny pamphlet. Discretely, he slid it under Harry’s hands.

“I brought this for you. My dad works with them a lot, and they’re really great people. They would help you, or your friend. If you wanted, I could go with you to see them.” Zayn gave Harry a reassuring smile.

The pamphlet came from an LGBTQ community center. It advertised support groups, therapists, pride events, and safe homes, and just touching it with his fingers gave Harry an odd tingling sensation.

“T-thanks,” Harry stuttered out. The front showed the center’s building, and Harry noted it had been decked out in rainbow flags and rainbow artwork and rainbow window clings. He couldn’t for a moment imagine walking into such a place during broad daylight.

“On the back, here?” Zayn flipped the pamphlet around, perhaps reading Harry’s mind. “There’s a number. Someone will answer 24/7. Like I said, they’re really great people, even if you just want someone to talk to.”

Harry nodded. They sat in silence for the remainder of the class, but when the bell rang, Zayn shocked Harry by giving him a tight hug.

“You’re not alone, Harry. You and your friend aren’t alone, I promise.”

 

Zayn’s words echoed in Harry’s head the remainder of the day. He kept the pamphlet close to him in every class, just touching it sometimes to make sure it still existed. He knew he must get it to Louis as soon as possible, and it felt good to have the semblance of a mission. Louis would know what to do. Louis would know how to proceed with this information.

Robin picked him up from school, warning that Anne’s Bible study group had descended on the house and to be quiet when he entered. Harry slipped up to his room unnoticed and tried to do some homework while he waited for the voices downstairs to die down. When he didn’t hear chatter anymore, he decided to descend and get a glass of water.

He’d miscalculated, though. Marsha Winston and Anne were still sitting on the sofa, speaking in hushed tones. Harry hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he heard anyway, as he could just make out their conversation whilst standing at the top of the stairs.

“She said that first night, after he told her, she just laid on the couch and cried. Couldn’t sleep a wink. She said the only thing she could do was quote scripture, or she’d have lost her sanity. He broke her heart.”

“How horrible,” Anne tutted, and Harry could imagine her shaking her head.

“And Kent took it even worse. He wouldn’t speak for days. It crushed their family, Anne, it was awful to watch. The selfishness of that boy…”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Marsha.”

“How can you be, Anne? Anthony was an adult and out of the house by then, and even still it nearly ripped them apart. Louis is still at home. I just can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

Harry stopped breathing. He heard his mother speak next.

“I haven’t talked to Jay yet, honestly. I just don’t know what to say.”

“What can you say? Looking back, you know, Mary and Kent realized they shared some of the blame for Anthony. They were too lax with him, didn’t keep a close enough watch, let him hang around unbelievers… I’m sure Jay is doing some soul searching at the moment.”

“Marsha, I—“ Harry heard his mother hesitate, “I’ve rarely met as good a mother as Jay. I doubt she’s let Louis hang around with the wrong crowd. In fact, Louis spent most of his time with Harry. I just don’t see how it’s a case of negligence this time.”

“Well.” Harry could hear Marsha take a sip of something. “I’ve heard it’s catchy. Like witchcraft, when one friend steps into it, they drag the others with them. It’s demonic, I’m telling you. We were watching a documentary about the homosexual agenda just the other night, and Anne, some of the perverse things they do, it’s just awful. Did you know they groom young boys by teaching at after school programs and arts camps? It’s terrifying.” Harry heard her take another sip. “You should keep a watchful eye on Harry, if they were good friends.”

A cup clinked. “Harry and I are very close, Marsha. I’m not worried. It will take some time, but ultimately I’m sure he’ll be fine. I think it came as quite a shock to him.” Anne added, “I’m sure he didn’t know.”

Harry couldn’t listen to any more. He crept back up to his room and closed the door quietly, not wanting to be observed. His heart felt raw, like someone had bit into him and chewed and chewed and chewed and then doused him in grainy sand. He wanted to rub himself clean but the wounds were too sticky, too deep. He sat on his bed and thought of how much he loved his mother. He thought of how telling her who he really was would break her heart. And for the first time in his life, he thought about purposely dying.

The thought startled him, caused him to shiver and grip his sheets, but he let it take full form nonetheless.

_If you can’t live like this, maybe it’s better to not live at all. You haven’t been really gay yet, you haven’t had real sex or anything. If you died now, maybe Jesus would still let you in. You wouldn’t have to feel this way anymore. You wouldn’t break anyone’s hearts._

 _Except Louis’_.

Harry clutched his own shoulders as he fell back on the mattress. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, which had turned wavy through his tears. He didn’t really want to die, he just wanted the pain in his chest to stop. But he couldn’t leave Louis alone, not when Louis faced his own pain bravely, strongly. Harry slid a hand under his pillow and pulled out Zayn’s pamphlet, staring at the numbers on the back, memorizing them. Maybe… maybe he’d call. Maybe. 

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and rolled to his side in a fetal position, beginning to sob; he tried to be soft about it, hoping to wash the hurt out of himself uninterrupted, but soon he heard a knock on his door. He couldn’t be bothered to answer it.

Moments later he felt arms around him.

“Oh my God, Hairball, what on earth is wrong?”

“Gemma?” Harry squeaked out, opening his eyes. His sister had him clutched tightly to her, her eyes wide with concern. Harry sobbed harder for some reason, clinging to her deftly. She tried to soothe him, running her fingers through his curls.

“What’s happened? Shit, Harry, what’s going on?”

Harry couldn’t answer. His throat felt like a giant blister.

“Talk to me, baby brother.”

“Harry?” Anne’s voice cut in from the doorway. “Honey, you’ve got to stop crying, sweetheart. I know this is hard, but you’ve got to try and move on.”

Harry watched through swollen eyes as Gemma turned to look at Anne. “What’s going on, will someone tell me?”

Anne ignored her, coming to sit next to them on the bed. She took Harry’s hand and held it. “Harry, look at me. God is a loving God. He chastens those He loves. This is painful for all of us, but Louis is being tempted right now. He needs to immerse himself in God’s Word and His discipline. We can pray for him to come through this a stronger Christian. That’s all we can do.”

Harry let his tears and snot mingle on Gemma’s shoulder. His sister didn’t care, she just pulled him tighter. Anne kept hold of his hand and part of Harry greedily treasured her touch, wondering if he could hoard his mother’s affections, store them up for when she found out the truth, for when she stopped loving him entirely.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on,” Gemma repeated, directing herself solely at Anne this time.

“It’s been a rough week, Gemma. Come help me get dinner and I’ll fill you in.”

Gemma kissed Harry’s forehead and grabbed the box of tissues under his nightstand, pressing these into his lap as she stood to follow Anne downstairs.

“Get a cool shower, Hairball, you’ll feel a lot better, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen.”

 

Harry took her advice. His face cooled down wonderfully in the steadying stream of the shower water and his thoughts became less jumbled. Tugging on a soft pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he opened the bathroom door.

Immediately he heard yelling. He hurried down the stairs.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me! Are you two for real right now? What the FUCK.”

“Not in this house, young lady, or you can march yourself right out the door.”

“No, no this is beyond that now, like, I can’t even believe you. Conversion therapy?”

“It’s counseling, Gemma, through the deacons and pastors! I don’t know what that liberal college has filled your head with, but this is not—“

“What my liberal college has filled my HEAD with? Logic, mom, LOGIC is what they’ve filled my head with! It’s not a choice, no one CHOOSES to be gay! What are we living in, the dark ages? Will there be witch hunts next?”

Robin spoke, low and steady. “Gemma, this is what the world does, they twist the truth until perversion is celebrated. Your mother and I know you don’t agree with what we believe anymore, and we grieve that. But some laws God has laid down for our own good. Do you want to see this young man grow up and get aids?”

“Oh my GOSH dad, gay people don’t just all have AIDS! I can’t believe this. No wonder Harry’s been crying everyday, how can you just let this happen?”

Harry had been inching closer and closer to the kitchen and now he realized he practically stood in the doorway. Three sets of eyes snapped to him.

“Hairball, come here,” Gemma swept him up in her arms.

“Gemma,” Anne’s tone contained a warning.

“What, I can’t hug my little brother now, you’re scared the ‘liberal’ will rub off on him?”

“Harry is going through enough as it is without you muddying the waters.”

“Harry is sixteen years old, mother, he has a brain and a heart if you would ever let him use them.”

The kitchen fell into sudden silence. Harry watched from over Gemma’s shoulder as Anne held back tears.

“That’s enough.” Robin pushed up from the table. “We’re not discussing this any more tonight. Gemma, Harry, help your mother set the table. I’ll go check on the corn.”

Gemma released Harry slowly, her dark eyes skating over his face. She pinched his dimple gently.

They ate mostly in silence, and though Harry knew the food tasted objectively good, he couldn’t enjoy a morsel.

Late that evening Harry made up his mind to tell Gemma. She’d started closing her door at night back when she began college, but this didn’t detour Harry. He turned the knob carefully and slipped inside, not daring to knock in case Anne heard from down the hall; even asleep, she had superb hearing. Gemma lay curled on her side, her hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her suitcase hung half open on the floor, its contents spewed about the room like a disemboweled creature. On her nightstand a little yellow alarm clock read ‘one thirty-four.’

Harry sat down beside her, his heart in his throat. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but then pulled back. Gemma sensed him there anyway and rolled over, yawning, her eyes batting open.

“Harry?” She whispered, her half-asleep body struggling to sit upright. “Hey, bub.”

The moon shone brightly through her window. She never closed her blinds. Harry wished for once it were pitch black so he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes.

“Gemma, I…” He hung his head, waiting for the fainting feeling to vanish.

“You can tell me anything, anything. You know that, right? I’ll always be here for you.” Gemma untangled herself from her sheets and scooted to sit next to Harry on the edge of the bed. She flicked on the nightstand lamp, causing Harry to wince. He could see by the soft light that there were tears in Gemma’s eyes.

“Gems,” Harry tried once more, but again his mouth moved uselessly, wordlessly.

“It’s okay, Hairball, it’s okay.” Gemma squeezed his shoulder, her action so comforting, so like something Louis would do, that it made Harry tear up.

“Do you… do you know, already?” He asked finally, meeting her warm brown eyes with his.

“I think so, Harry. Do you want to say it, or do you want me to?” Gemma tugged at one of his curls, making it bounce when she let go.

“I can say it. I should have to say it. He said it, you know. He’s much braver than I am.”

“No, no, don’t think that, Harry, it’s not about being brave. God. You shouldn’t have to be brave—there’s nothing wrong with you,” Gemma sighed.

Harry let the room sink into silence before he said, “I’m gay.” He spoke these words for the third time in his life, and though he used the smallest whisper, they still sounded loud as bombs.

“And I’m so happy for you, Harry. I’m _proud_ of you, baby brother.” Gemma kissed his forehead. “I’m so, so proud.”

_Proud_ of him? _Happy_ for him? He had never associated these words with _gay_ before. Hearing them side-by-side sent pangs into Harry’s heart, but they were warm pangs, pangs that made his tears sting a little less.

“What do I do, Gems,” he asked, staring down at his hands.

“Oh Harry. I wish I could tell you some easy answer. Mom and dad can’t even accept that I voted for Obama. I wish I could tell you they’d be okay with it but—I can’t, Harry. I don’t know anything, bub, except that you can come live with me whenever you want. Wherever I am, you have a home.”

Harry hugged her tightly. Her words made him feel just a little better.

“You’re in love with Louis, aren’t you, Hairball?” Gemma asked, squeezing him.

“Gems, I—I love him so much it hurts,” Harry confessed into his sister’s shoulder.

“Mmm. I’d guessed as much. You two are cute as shit together. Have you kissed and stuff?”

Harry groaned, but couldn’t stop the sheepish smile that formed on his face. “And stuff.”

“I’ve been waiting my whole life to have gossip sessions with you about your dates, you have to give me more than that.” Gemma pinched his cheek fondly.

“Mostly kissing, I guess,” Harry said slowly. “Um. Like. His eyes are really beautiful, and so are his, um, eyelashes… and he’s really gentle and… and…” Harry found it hard to vocalize the words in his head. Gemma wanted to know the mushy stuff he thought about, and she didn’t think it gross or weird or sinful, and that was something new to Harry. “And he’s brilliant, he’s the funniest and the best person ever, and he’s really hot… all over.”

Harry knew his cheeks were bright red. Gemma could read him far too well.

“All over, huh?” She teased.

“Ya.” Harry bit his lip to keep from dimpling, but it didn’t work.

“Is he a good kisser and _stuff_?” She asked, grinning at Harry obscenely.

Harry’s dimples deepened. “He’s amazing at it.” He felt his blush spreading all over his body. He almost certainly looked like a lobster.

“I’m happy for you, Harry. Falling in love for the first time is really special. I’m only sorry this is so unfair for you both.”

Harry had been caught up in the happiness of his sister’s reaction, but now he felt a heavy weight re-settle on his heart. “S’okay, Gems. It’s not your fault. I just don’t know what to do.”

“My offer still stands, Harry, for you, and for Louis.”

“You live in a dorm room, Gemma.”

“I do not, I live in a shared apartment. And we have a couch. Even if I lived in a dinky studio I would take you in, you goose. You’re the most important person in the world to me. We’ll figure something out. Together.”

Gemma rubbed his back as they sat in silence a few more minutes, then she flipped off the light and walked Harry back to his bed. She tucked him in, just like she used to when they were little. A sense of calm passed over Harry for the first time in weeks, and as Gemma quietly crept back to her room, Harry finally drifted off to sleep.


	26. For In Dreams

Harry biked to Louis’ house the next day, but Mark stood in the backyard playing catch with the twins, ruining Harry’s plans of sneaking up the garage roof. He tried calling multiple times when he got back home, but each time either Jay picked up, or he got the answering machine. He’d hung up immediately either way, thankful the Tomlinsons didn’t have caller ID.

In the mess of the previous night Harry hadn’t realized Gemma’s return meant she’d finished her semester. She wouldn’t stay home the whole summer break, and in fact planned to travel to DC in a few days, but just having her around at all made Harry feel cheerier.

On Saturday Harry once again sat on his bed staring at Zayn’s pamphlet, trying to think up other ways he could contact Louis. Paper airplanes? Tying a note to Chance? He heard the doorbell ring, but as Gemma was downstairs, he assumed she’d answer it.

“Harry! It’s for you!” She called up moments later.

He stuffed the pamphlet in his pocket and thudded down the stairs, wondering who on earth it could be. He stopped short when he saw Lottie standing on their stoop.

“Lottie! What’re you doing here?”

Gemma bowed out of the group, retreating back to the living room.

Lottie twirled her ponytail in that nervous habit she had. “Can you come over?”

Harry bit his cheek. “How’d you get here?” He looked around for a bike or perhaps a car; it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d tried to commandeer one.

“I walked.” Lottie looked up at him with her big blue eyes.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” Harry couldn’t help but stare around the neighborhood, just in case.

“No. Harry you have to come home with me, please?” Lottie clasped her hands and begged.

“Um. You know I’m not supposed to see Louis right now, Lottie.” Harry hated saying it out loud, but what else could he do?

“But he misses you, Harry. He cries all the time. Mom never sees it, he always waits ‘til she’s gone.”

Harry’s heart pained him. “He does?”

“No one will tell me why he’s in trouble, but dad’s not being fair. He’s really miserable. Can’t you come home with me?”

“Lottie, I don’t see how—“

“My parents are gone all day for the twins’ softball tournament. Please, Harry?”

Harry didn’t need much more convincing. “Okay, let’s go.”

Harry waved to Gemma, who’d obviously heard the entire conversation, and she waved back, an encouraging smile on her face. He followed Lottie out the door and grabbed his bike, instructing Lottie to sit behind him on the empty bag rack and hold on to his waist.

As soon as they arrived, Felicite ran out the door to meet them, a huge smile on her face.

“You came!” She bounded to Harry and wrapped her short arms around him.

“Hurry up, before someone sees you. Louis is in his room.”

The girls ushered Harry inside and up the steps, their pony-tails bouncing as they pulled him along. They stopped outside Louis’ door and knocked loudly.

“Louis? We have a surprise for you! Open up.”

Harry heard some shuffling, then a very small voice said, “I don’t feel so good right now, girls. I’m napping.”

“Just open up, we promise you’ll like it. Pleeeeeeease?” Fizzy begged, and Fizzy never begged.

The door handle turned and Louis poked his head around. The moment he saw Harry he threw the door wide and stared open-mouthed in shock.

“Told you so,” Lottie said, her hand cocked on her hip proudly.

Fizzy jumped on Louis, wrapping him in a hug and saying, “Don’t cry anymore, please?” She slid off as Lottie took her hand and they skipped down the hallway, leaving the boys alone.

Harry stepped inside Louis’ room, closing the door behind him. When the latch clicked, Louis pounced, his soft mouth shoving, desperate.

“Hazza…” Louis moaned, his fingers finding the sweat-damp hair behind Harry’s ears.

“Are you okay, Lou? Lottie said—“

“Shhhh, I’m fine.” Louis silenced him with a gentle kiss to his nose.

“But Lou,”

“Haz, you’re here, in the daylight! Just let me hold you, okay?”

Louis didn’t say it forcefully, but his tone brokered no argument. Harry nodded and pushed down his worries. Maybe Louis just wanted to forget.

His skin goose-bumped as Louis slid a hand up his t-shirt.

“Cuddle with me?” Louis asked, his eyes large question marks.

“Of course.”

Louis crawled onto his bed and tugged Harry after him. Harry followed and twined their legs together, reaching out to interlace their fingers.

“Tell me everything I’ve missed, Haz?” Louis smiled at him hopefully, but Harry could see the raw skin around his eyes.

“What do you wanna know?” Harry pretended he didn’t notice the pallor of Louis’ face. The change shocked him.

“Anything. Surprise me.”

“Um, okay. The, um… that nest of baby bunnies behind our shed? They finally left. Only one still comes to the birdfeeder.”

“Is it the one with the lightening mark down its nose?” Louis’s palms pulsed into Harry’s chest, warm, steady.

“Ya, it’s HBP, I think.” Louis had named the bunny Harry Beatrix Potter.

“Good. Little fella always looked a bit too scrawny to survive without Robin’s bird food.”

“Lou.” Harry didn’t want to talk about bunnies or bird food. He tugged his shirt off and replaced Louis’ hands on his bare skin. Louis swallowed thickly, looking greedily at Harry’s torso, eventually lowering his fingers to brush against his extra nipples. But then something crinkled in Harry’s pocket, jolting him from his desires, and he remembered the pamphlet.

“Oh!” He pulled it out, unfolding it for Louis. “Zayn gave me this. He said we could talk to people there, if we needed. See? There’s a number on the back.” Harry pressed it into Louis’ hands, hoping he’d see a spark of reassurance on his best friend’s face, but no.

Louis took it, handling it in his fingers like a snake that might strike. “I see.”

Harry wanted to say more, but he could tell Louis didn’t want to talk of it further. Instead he scooted closer and pushed Louis’ shirt up, then pressed against him bare chest to bare chest. He nudged his thigh between Louis’ legs.

Harry took a deep breath and collected some spit in his hand before dipping it under Louis’ waistband.

“Haz…” Louis twitched and wiggled as Harry made a fist around him. His breathing hitched up. “Hazza…” Louis said again, this time closing his eyes.

Harry quickly undid Louis’ pants while his other hand worked silently underneath his best friend’s boxers. Louis’ eyes remained scrunched up tightly, his mouth hanging open in a perfect ‘O;’ Harry wanted so badly to kiss him, but the angle would have disturbed his rhythm.

“I’m—I’m—“ Louis whispered as Harry touched him. It had been so long.

Harry let himself forget about all the tears and the pain and instead let the fantasies of his dreams swirl around in his conscious mind, feeding him ideas. He would make it so good. He would take Louis’ mind off of everything for just a little while. As Harry let his imagination take over, he wondered what it would be like to feel Louis’ touch in that most secret, dirty, sinful place. The more he thought of it the more he wanted it, and as his saliva turned thick in his mouth, Harry stretched up to murmur his fantasy into Louis’ ear.

“Imagine you’re in me, Lou. Imagine you just push inside me, all the way. I’d like it so much, I’d want it so badly.”

Louis came at that, messing hard into Harry’s fist, breathing heavily, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his brow as he curled closer to kiss Harry.

“You’d really like that, Hazza?” He whispered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“I—“ Harry found it hard to say out loud, despite his recent confession. “I touched myself there before… everything happened.” His cheeks burned, but he didn’t mind Louis seeing.

“You did?” Louis spoke so softly Harry could barely hear, even two inches away from his lips. “Was it—“ Louis gulped—“good?”

Harry nodded, his pulse pounding in his stomach. “Have you tried it, Lou?”

Louis gave a little smile at that, his lashes fluttering down to brush against his cheeks as he averted his gaze. “Ya I’ve—I’ve tried it. Lots.”

Harry nuzzled into his neck, basking in Louis’ scent. It made him brave. “Lou, you could… you could, you know.”

Louis continued to kiss him, oblivious, not realizing his meaning. “Hmmm?”

“If you wanted, you could really… go inside me…”

Louis pulled back to look at him, blinking his eyes in the soft sun. “Hazza,” he said, his voice cracking. 

“I could take it. I could take you.”

“Harry,” Louis whispered again, the air around them hot and dense and smelling like lust and skin.

“You could do it now, Lou.”

“You want to have sex?” Louis asked, swallowing, licking his lips.

“Yes. I want to, yes.” Harry had no doubt of this. He wanted Louis in every way, any way, so strongly it was as if he were being consumed in a furnace of need.

But also, when would they have a bed again? Or a closed door? When would they be so alone as now? And what if he never saw Louis again. Tomorrows couldn’t be counted on, and he wanted to cement what he felt in a tangible way. He wanted marks. He wanted proof that this wasn’t only in his head; he didn’t want this taken from him without evidence to look back on. He wanted to share in the finality for which Louis now suffered; he wanted to be truly gay. 

“I want this now, for forever. In case…” Harry trailed off.

“I’m going to see you again, Haz. We’ll keep sneaking out when we can, meeting in the thicket, okay?”

“But… please, Lou? Please have sex with me? I want to _really_ be yours, be something they can’t erase from me. I want to _really_ be gay,” Harry pleaded.

Louis shuffled around until he lay propped on one elbow. He then tucked his legs underneath himself and sat properly, pulling Harry up as well. Gingerly, he took Harry’s hands in his and stared down at their twined fingers, collecting his words.

“Haz, that’s not ever why I’d have sex with you. I’d never mark you as mine, or something. That’s not what sex does, or what it is. You don’t magically become more gay when you have, um—“ Louis stuttered, “Intercourse.”

Harry heard his words, understood them even, but still they felt like a rejection. He ached for this; he would have tattooed their love on his skin if he could have.

“S’okay. You don’t have to,” he mumbled, biting his lip to stem the threat of tears.

“No, Harry,” Louis brought his hands up to cup Harry’s face, gently tilting his gaze upwards, “Listen to me. People have sex because they’re in love. People don’t have sex to prove things. It’s… not how I always… wanted to.”

He took a deep breath. Harry watched as little pools of tears collected under his eyelids.

“I need my dreams right now, Hazza, and having sex with you is one of them. But I don’t want it like this, under a blanket, secret and shameful and ‘cause we’re both scared. I want to have flowers and candles. I want to go out for a fancy date, Haz, and come home and kiss you for hours, no one to hide from, and I want to—“ he hesitated, meeting Harry’s eyes—“to make love to you, Harry.” Louis trembled, and the pool of tears broke, starting to trickle down his face. “I need to believe that can still happen.”

Harry stretched up and pressed his lips to Louis’ cheeks, kitten kisses that wiped off his tears. Louis’ words had made him tingle all over and warm from his heart out; he didn’t really know what to say or how to respond to the tender declaration. He simply kissed and kissed, trailing his mouth along Louis’ jaw, down his throat, to the dip of his collarbone, along the nape of his neck. 

Louis eventually spoke again, his voice sounding hoarse this time. “Let me make you come, Hazza?”

Harry shivered. He’d been ignoring the hardness between his thighs. As Louis reached down and undid his pants, Harry tried to catch his lips in another kiss. Louis gently rejected him, instead sucking two fingers between his teeth, pulling them out spit slick and gummy.

“M’gonna need my mouth,” he whispered, ducking down to Harry’s lap.


	27. A Perfect Creation

The next day’s sermon seemed determined to lay guilt thickly atop the boys’ Saturday activities. Harry had left the Tomlinson’s in the early evening before Jay and Mark were set to return with the twins. The older girls had hugged him goodbye, promising they wouldn’t tell anyone, and Harry marveled at their gumption, their loyalty. Louis had looked much better than before, his eyes even sparkling a bit. As Harry had closed their front door behind him, he’d heard Louis drawing his sisters in for a cuddle and thanking them sincerely. He’d arrived home to find that Gemma had easily lied about his whereabouts, telling Anne and Robin he’d biked to the library to do some research for a paper.

“Turn with me in your Bibles to Romans one. If you are visiting today, we’ve been looking at Paul’s letter to the Romans, and this week, ladies and gentlemen, we delve into the heart of God’s wrath towards sin. Read with me if you will from verse eighteen.”

Harry curled into Gemma’s warmth. The church felt so cold. Pastor Rob continued reading.

_“For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was meet._ ”

Pastor Rob read to the end of the chapter. Gemma had insisted on attending service for this reason and this reason alone, to be close to Harry should the sermon become hard to bear. He appreciated this more than he could tell her, but he wished someone could do the same for Louis, who sat several pews up with his family, his back stiff and unmoving.

As Pastor Rob finished he pushed his glasses up his nose and looked out into the congregation. “In verse twenty-six in the NIV version it reads, _‘And received in themselves due penalty for their error._ ’ God keeps his word, folks. His response to sin now remains the same as it was back in Paul’s day. We can see the disease, the depravity, and the pain that comes from breaking God’s rules, from not doing things the way God intended. As the issue of gay marriage makes its way through the courts of our great country, and as our mainstream media attempts to depict wickedness as goodness, we are loosing sight of what is acceptable in God’s eyes.”

Harry couldn’t drown out the sermon, no matter how hard he tried. It seeped into his pores, penetrated his gut. The fabric of the pew cut harshly against his sweaty palms as he pressed downwards, trying to anchor into something. He watched Louis’ neck for any twitch, but Louis didn’t move so much as a centimetre.

As Pastor Rob closed the service in prayer and the postlude began to waft through the sanctuary, Harry stood with his family and plastered the semblance of a smile on his face as he shuffled through the crowds. The Sunday school hour had brought him no comfort, as Pastor James had made sure he and Louis sat on opposite sides of the room, but now Harry wished for even that meagre proximity again; just breathing the same air as Louis seemed preferable to endless separation. 

He looked on with longing as Mark and Jay stopped to talk with the Walkers, Louis close beside them, holding the twins’ Bibles. Louis looked almost ghostly standing there, like he’d disappeared. Gemma patted Harry’s shoulder, breaking into his thoughts.

“Harry.” She pointed across the foyer, turning Harry’s attention to Liam, who was walking directly towards them.

“Harry!” Liam greeted him with a big smile. “I haven’t seen you at youth group lately. You and Louis kind of just vanished,” he tilted his head at Harry in a question.

“We got busy with school,” Harry lied lamely. With Louis grounded from youth group, Harry hadn’t the heart the go without him. He’d nearly forgotten about it altogether.

“Well, we’re having a game night this week! If you want to come.”

Harry tried to smile at him. “I’ll think about it.”

Liam shuffled awkwardly, silent for a few seconds. “Uh, and if you wanted, you could tell Louis he’s invited too.”

Harry blinked. Why wouldn’t Louis be invited? He must have let his confusion show on his face.

“Just tell him to ignore Ben. I’ll talk to him, he won’t have to sit alone.”

Harry felt his face heating. Had Ben told everyone? Cool hatred coiled in his belly.

“Ya, okay, thanks,” he managed to get out, saying goodbye quickly to Liam and dismissing himself. He hurried over to Gemma, who waited for him by the door.

“Everything okay?” She asked.

“Nope.” Harry searched for Louis amidst the crowd as they waited for Anne and Robin. He couldn’t find the Tomlinsons, but Hannah Walker suddenly caught his eye and waved fervently to him. Harry wondered at this, but waved back. She flashed him a bright smile.

When they all finally reached the car Robin announced that they were going out for lunch, and that Gemma could pick where. She chose Harry’s favorite, the Chinese restaurant, and Harry appreciated the gesture, but no food gave him much pleasure anymore, and he’d honestly just as soon have eaten a Panera salad. Still, as he munched on his sweet and sour chicken, he hoped the sauce would take away the bitter taste in his mouth. It did not.

*  
Harry didn’t see Louis for a whole week. Sunday came, and again he and Louis were made to sit apart. Horribly, the next week passed identically. He anguished in misery, waiting in vain beside the phone and biking to Louis’ house only to find no way to sneak inside. Once, he even called Chance to the fence-line and tried to sneak a letter under the dog’s collar; Chance had wagged his tail and eaten the note instead, oblivious, turning Harry’s loving words into drool-coated shreds. At first Harry had thrown himself into finishing the school year, bathing himself in distractions, but when school officially ended for the summer he once again sank into misery.

Finally, on a Thursday night, the phone rang. Harry dashed to answer it, still hopeful after so long.

“Midnight, thicket,” Louis whispered as soon as Harry said hello. Harry fought to keep a smile from his face, telling Anne stoically it had been a computer call.

He sneaked down the edge of the stairs at eleven-thirty, barely able to contain his trembling excitement. Somehow he made it out the door and to the thicket without screaming in glee, but his excitement had so overwhelmed him that he didn’t even flinch when the black cat sprang out from the shadows and once again followed him into the trees. Harry waited, nervous, as his watch ticked down the minutes. The cat sat beside him, its eyes glowing like twin moons in the darkness, and Harry welcomed the creature’s calming presence. 

At twelve-o-two Louis arrived. He sunk against Harry, surrendering all of his weight.

“Lou,” Harry whispered, kissing his neck. They didn’t really need to speak.

“Mmm, kiss me, kiss me, Harry,” Louis begged, and Harry did. They mauled each other’s mouths for ages before finally growing sated enough to break apart and breathe. It was then that Harry noticed the tightness of Louis’ jaw line, as if the angle had grown sharper somehow. It occurred to him that Louis had lost the baby fat around his face.

“Are you okay, Lou? You’re not, are you,” Harry answered his own question.

Louis squeezed him. “Maybe. I don’t want you to worry, Haz. I’ll be fine.”

“What if you’re not, though? Tell me what’s going on. I don’t know how to make this better.”

Louis took a heavy breath. “Just be here.”

“Lou.” Harry took Louis’ face between his palms gently, cupping his jaw. He’d been mulling through his next words for weeks. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be like this. Maybe we could leave. Maybe we could call the place, or go with Gemma.”

Louis didn’t respond, so Harry smoothed along his cheekbones with one finger. “I’d leave, Lou. I’d give up everything, just ask me to.”

Louis sniffed. He rose up on his toes and kissed Harry’s brow before answering. “I know you would, Harry. I’ve thought about it a lot, actually.” Louis paused, knotting his fingers in the collar of Harry’s shirt and fiddling with the soft fabric as he continued.

“I almost called the center. Really, I almost did. But what kind of life would that be, Haz? We’d be walking away from everyone we know, not just our parents. I don’t have a single family member or friend who would take me in. I’d be dependent on charity, or living in a shelter. I could end up homeless, on the street. I’d never ask you to follow me into a life like that. I don’t even want a life like that. I don’t want to leave my mom, or the girls…”

Louis swallowed. “If this is the way everything stays the same, then I’ll do it.”

“But,” Harry tugged frantically at Louis’ shirt, “I don’t care about any of that! I’d live in a dumpster with you, but that’s not even the point, Gemma said you could stay with her, and Zayn offered—“

“Harry, I’m okay. I can take this.”

Harry bit his lip, warring with himself over whether to argue or let Louis have his way. He couldn’t very well force Louis to leave. And he understood, he really did; but Louis seemed so miserable, and he just wanted to help. Why would Louis be willing to go through this with no end in sight?

Louis smoothed along Harry’s spine and let him cuddle in closer.

“S’okay. I know you’re worried, Hazza. But let me spare you from this, alright? You don’t need to know. I don’t want you to hear what I’ve heard. We’ll get through this, and we’ll keep it a secret. In a couple more years I’ll have a job, and maybe a degree in something, and you’ll be leaving home for college. Maybe things will settle down, change a bit. We can plan for then. Alright?”

Harry nodded into his shoulder. A couple years? Years felt like an eternity. They’d barely been able to live like this for weeks. 

“I’d wait forever for you, Lou.”

“I know.” Louis added, barely a whisper, “My pretty boy.”

Shivers frisked down Harry’s spine at the title, at the possessive qualifier. His cheeks warmed and he kissed down heavily into the crease of Louis’ neck.

“Say it again, Lou,” he begged between wet presses of his lips.

“That’s a bit greedy, don’t you think?” Louis giggled.

“No.” Harry bit his skin tenderly, sucking the sting out with his mouth after. “Yes. I don’t care what it is, can you say it again?”

Harry could hear the teasing smile in Louis’ tone. “I’m not sure I should, you’re a bit much right now.”

“Louis,” Harry moaned, his fingers tucking under Louis’ waistband, itching to tug down. “I miss you so much, Lou. I—I want you.”

Harry pulled Louis’ track pants and boxers around his thighs, then hurriedly did the same with his own and pressed their bodies together. Louis’ breathing went shallow and he remained very still, letting Harry maneuver them together in the dark. 

Harry rubbed against him, his hands coming around to clasp the small of Louis’ back. Louis whimpered as they ground their hips together, naked and exposed in the warm summer wind, both of them painfully aroused. Finding his lips, Harry sucked a needy kiss.

As his breathing picked up and his legs started to wobble, Louis asked, “Harry, will you touch me?”

Harry wetly licked his palm and snaked his hand between their bodies as Louis clasped his hips tightly. He fitted his fingers around Louis, and partially around himself as well, still thrusting forwards, creating two sources of warm friction. His hand worked deftly, hardly feeling out of practice.

Louis began to buck first, the tremors of his body sending Harry over the edge as well. They kissed as they came, Louis nursing Harry’s tongue as their mingling mess dripped down to the dark earth.

“My pretty boy came with me,” Louis whispered, his voice like spun silver.

Harry lurched and blurted out another pulse at Louis’ words. “Oh…”

“Look at you,” Louis said, reaching a hand down to touch where Harry still held their warm bodies together as they turned limp.

“You can say it forever, please,” Harry begged, nudging into Louis suggestively.

“My pretty boy,” Louis intoned as if it were a chant, a prayer. It had more power than either, in Harry’s opinion. His heart stuttered and he gasped, aching to find Louis’ lips once more.

After a minute Harry freed his mouth, their hands still touching their damp nakedness.

“Lou?” Harry asked, not waiting for an answer, “Then you’re my angel. My only angel.”

Louis kissed Harry again, his breath tickling Harry’s nose. “I like it,” he whispered.

They stayed in the thicket until shreds of dawn began to bloom across the eastern sky. Harry could hardly say goodbye. Without the black cat walking him most of the way home, Harry would have lost his resolve and run back to Louis’ arms, not caring if the sunlight caught them and turned them to dust.

*

Two more weeks had nearly past when the phone rang on Friday afternoon.

“The twins have a dance recital tonight,” Louis’ voice whispered as soon as Harry said hello. “I’ve faked a cough, and so far it’s been pretty convincing. Meet me at seven?”

Harry said yes even before Louis finished.

Feigning spontaneity, Harry decided, was his best course of action. He complained about a headache all through dinner, then moaned about how his hips and legs hurt from sitting inside all day. He mumbled and wallowed enough that, true to form, Anne suggested he get outside to take in some fresh air. Why didn’t he go for a walk after dinner?

By seven he reached the thicket, a wonderful idea percolating in his brain. He’d met the black cat again on his way and had run the idea past the feline. It had meowed at him in answer, which Harry took for a yes. It disappeared into the shrubs just as Louis approached.

Harry fell into him, letting Louis’ scent consume him.

“Hi Lou,” Harry kissed into his ear as Louis’ fingers clutched him closer.

“Hazza.” Louis spoke so quietly Harry could barely distinguish his voice from the early evening birdsong.

Harry moved to kiss him, his hands coming up to clutch behind Louis’ neck. Louis went stiff, though, and shivered. This startled Harry, and he stilled as well.

“Sorry,” Louis muttered, breathing again and moving forward into Harry’s space. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“Are you okay?” Harry didn’t know what he meant by okay, but he had no other word for _‘why won’t you kiss me_.’

“Ya, m’fine. I’ve missed your lips, Harry. C’mere.” Louis pushed their mouths together and if Harry had imagined qualms, these dissipated in the feverish desire with which Louis licked into him, biting him and tangling their tongues as their mouths smacked together, wet and messy.

“Haaaaaaz,” Louis moaned, his fingers tight on the small of Harry’s back. Harry had long since lost his breath, and had almost lost his control; he wanted to rip their clothes off right there in the weed thicket. He didn’t care.

“Louis,” Harry breathed before he lost his mind, too, “We’re going somewhere tonight. I’m taking you on a date.”

Louis pulled away, his thick, pink tongue slow to slip back between his lips. “You are?” He sounded worried. “You’re sure?”

“It’s not far, and no one will see us, I promise.”

“Okay,” Louis smiled weakly at him, his eyes unsure.

“C’mon.” Harry took his hand and led him through the twilight, out of the woods and onto the railroad tracks by the old station. The area always stood abandoned, the empty limestone buildings, which dated back more than a hundred years, making the whole area seem like a ghost town. Empty freight cars were stored in the lot between the station and the large limestone quarry.

Trains still used the line frequently, but only for freight shipments. Passengers hadn’t disembarked here for fifty years. Harry took Louis down the tracks, balancing along the rails as Louis held his hand, steadying him. Perhaps, he thought, his clumsy attempts at coordination would cheer Louis up.

“Ahhg!” Harry tipped, toppling into in best friend. Louis finally smiled and giggled, kissing Harry’s temple and insisting they switch positions so he could demonstrate how to properly walk a rail.

They continued down the tracks until Harry saw his destination peeking through the tall wooden fence of Pine Lane.

“This way.” He tugged Louis down a worn grassy path to the sidewalk.

“I’m confused,” Louis said, looking around at the rows of little houses so very similar to their own.

“There, see?” Harry pointed at an old colonial style house, painted in tans, blues, and purples. Around its wrapping porch grew a massive garden, little paths winding through it, early summer flowers of every type filling the area where grass should have been and continuing around to the back of the house.

“Wow.” Louis’ mouth hung open.

“She lets people wander through all the time. So, um, here we are.” Harry gave his hand a squeeze.

They entered the homey garden under a trellis of soft pink roses. To either side were large hostas and daisies, portulacas spilling from beneath the shadier foliage onto the sidewalks, and pansies sitting father in under a small, decorative red maple tree. Snap dragons grew wild and tall along the fence line, inky black hollyhocks towering above them. Lilies the size of Harry’s thumb sprouted, speckled and colored like the pastels of taffys, from mounds of thin, green leaves. Two more bushes of wild roses, one white, one red, climbed the porch pillars, and hanging baskets filled with fuchsias and rhododendrons swung under the eves.

The air had spun out into gossamer gold as the sun slipped beyond view. Time hung fragile and suspended as Louis and Harry walked hand in hand through the witching hour. Even the fireflies seemed otherworldly, floating by on air too thin to support them.

Harry counted at least fifty different flower types, far too many for him to recognize by name, but Louis asked excitedly about each one, his mood lifting as he chattered about the beauty of petals and stamen.

“Look at this one, Haz!” Louis crouched by a patch of bright, short flowers, their colors ranging from garish pink, to yellow, to orange, to red, to purple.

“They’re a daisy, right? They must be,” Louis thumbed over the flower’s little petals that unfurled in a row like ballet dancers peelings off from a line.

“Don’t think so…” Harry mussed around in the dirt until he found their tag. “It says ‘zinnia.’ I’ve never seen them before. They’re sure pretty.”

“The prettiest. They look so happy.” Louis sighed, stood, and tugged Harry onwards around the back of the house.

Louis stopped next before a double delphinium that stood magnificently tall and regal like a peak ascending into heaven. Its flowers shone with a blue hue, but as the breeze swayed its stalk, Harry could see shades of purple and violet as well. The delphinium’s petals were the most delicate chiffon, barely translucent yet thin as rice paper.

“This right here, this is my favorite,” Louis declared, stooping to brush his nose against the fragile stamen.

“Really?” Harry had a more difficult time appreciating the flowers because Louis outshone them all in beauty, and Harry had eyes only for him.

“Just look at it, Haz. It’s like a dragon scale, see how it shimmers? And the pink light back here helps. Everything is rose tinted.” 

Louis lifted his eyes to the sky as he cradled the flower stalk between his fingers and bit his lip in a smile. His eyes sparkled like dew drops in the morning sun, and this made Harry’s groin ache with near nausea.

Louis knelt beside the plant. “It’s just stunning, isn’t it, Hazza? So perfect.”

Harry got on his knees beside him. “Ya,” Harry agreed, not at all looking at the flower, brushing Louis’ fringe from his eyes and tucking a stray strand behind his ear.

The blue-eyed boy shivered, then turned to look at Harry, his hands still cupped around the flower. “Why’d God make them perfect, Harry?”

There were tears in his ears, not spilling over yet, but collecting around the rim, reflecting the pink light of the air and glistening like beads of rain on a spider’s web.

“What do you mean, Lou?” Harry asked, concern and confusion swelling in him.

“Just… God made the flowers perfect. Why couldn’t he make me perfect?”

His tears spilled over then, silently and swiftly, but Harry had frozen in place, Louis’ words cutting a channel deep into his heart. He felt a knot grow in his own throat, threatening to make him cry as well.

He collected Louis into his arms and the blue-eyed boy clung there, crying into Harry’s neck. Harry rocked them back and forth, his pulse beating in erratic, frantic rhythms because Louis never broke, Louis never faltered, Louis never questioned.

Harry kissed his neck and whispered, “You’re perfect to me, Lou.”

They stayed embraced in the dirt until the fireflies shone brighter than the sky and crickets had started to chirp around them, forgetting their presence. Harry helped Louis up and they walked back to the wooded thicket slowly, Louis leaning into Harry for every step, his arms clasped around the slightly taller boy, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder.

When at last they reached their meeting place, Louis reached up and gave Harry a long kiss. Harry latched onto him, sucking up the nutrients of their lust.

“Don’t go,” Harry breathed when they drew apart, “Stay with me, Lou…”

“Hazza…”

“Let’s run away. Let’s fly off somewhere, plant our own garden, away from everything.”

“You’re so beautiful, Harry. Gosh, sometimes I just… sometimes I don’t think you’re real.”

“I’m so real, Lou. Let’s run away.” Harry pawed at his chest, his shoulders, tears rasping in his voice.

“You’ve let the magic get to you, Haz. S’not that easy. Never is.”

“But what if it was?” Harry knew he sounded naïve and childish and foolish. He didn’t care. 

“Harry,” Louis looked to the ground, the growing darkness sharpening his cheekbones “Make me a promise?”

Harry nodded immediately, his breath catching. “Anything, Lou.”

“Promise me you’ll never change. Not, like, grow or evolve or anything, just that you’ll always see this.”

Harry wrinkled his brow in confusion. “See what?”

“The magic. You see it so well, Hazza. You eat it up from the air and it spills out your eyes and it makes me so—“ Louis’ voice cracked then, “Because sometimes I can’t see it anymore and…”

He didn’t finish, just pulled Harry into a vice-like hug and tried to stifle his own tears.

Harry kissed the nape of his neck. “I promise.”

Darkness had well and truly fallen when they parted ways. The ache inside Harry clawed around like a monstrous creature, fed yet unstated. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to walk away from Louis and head back home.

He snuck through the back door and up to his room unobserved, careful to tiptoe on the edge of the stairs. If questioned he could say he’d gotten back from his walk early and had been up in his room. What other reason would he have for wandering around the neighborhood at the edge of night?


	28. Breaking Points Like Shattered Glass

On Sunday Louis didn’t sit by himself. Liam sat beside him, as did Hannah. Harry wondered a bit at this, but decided to just be happy people were talking to Louis again. Ben’s posse had been ignoring both he and Harry’s existence for a good month.

As July came, and Gemma returned for their annual holiday celebrations, Harry found himself repeating the number from the pamphlet over and over again in his head. Maybe he should call them. Maybe they would be able to convince Louis to leave. Maybe someone there could help.

But every time he picked up the phone to dial, he chickened out. His hand would start shaking and he’d get a sharp pain in his chest and he’d hang the phone back up, flushed and trembling.

He and Louis didn’t meet again until the Saturday after July 4th. Gemma had answered Louis’ call, thankfully, but as their parents were both in the room she’d said yes for Harry whilst pretending to perfection that she spoke to a salesperson.

A few minutes later she had motioned Harry into the living room and delivered Louis’ message: midnight, the thicket.

Harry waited forty minutes this time, the black cat alongside him. He wondered if he should give the creature a name, since it had been following them around for over half a year.

When Louis finally arrived Harry held him tightly and relished in the sensation. These meetings had become as precious as rare diamonds to him.

He found Louis’ lips and started to kiss him, but Louis pulled away, stiffening.

“Lou?” Harry asked, taken aback.

“I have to tell you first, Harry. I needed you to come because you have to know before you see it.”

Louis stepped farther back and reached up to fix his fringe, then halfway through the motion jerked to a stop, retracted his hand, and dropped his arm to hang at his side.

“Oh?” Harry asked, scared now.

“Don’t look like that, Haz. It’s only temporary. Just for a little while.”

“What is?” Harry asked, his throat closing, restricting his air.

“They want…” Louis breathed shallowly. “I’m courting someone.”

Harry’s skin started tingling. “What?”

“Hannah. From church. I didn’t want you to see and just… I had to tell you.”

Harry withdrew several steps, tears stinging his eyes.

“Huh? Why?” He yelped, wounded.

“No, no don’t cry, Hazza, it’s just the next step, to prove that it’s—that it’s working and everything.”

Harry wiped at his cheeks. A terrible, selfish jealousy surged inside him and he knew he should clamp his mouth shut, he knew Louis didn’t deserve his anger, and yet he still spoke. “And is it?”

Louis looked at him for a brief moment with wide eyes, disbelieving Harry’s cutting words. Then he crumpled to the ground, cradling his knees against his chest.

“Lou I’m sorry,” Harry begged, stunned at his own bitterness and cruelty, falling to throw his arms around the smaller boy. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t, please Lou, I’m sorry.”

Louis sniffled into his shoulder. “I know. It’s okay, Harry, I know.”

Harry pulled Louis closer, the darkness upsetting their balance and toppling them sideways onto the mossy ground. Louis rolled to his back and looked up through the treetops at the stars. 

“Please tell me,” Harry whispered, “If it’s too much. I won’t act like a jealous baby, I promise. I’ll be here for you. You don’t have to carry all this alone.”

Louis cuddled closer to him. “S’not worth it, Harry. I’d just be making you sick with their poison too, and I don’t have an antidote.”

“You feel sick?” Harry’s hand found Louis’ and he squeezed.

“Ya.”

Harry twined their feet, a gentle nudge to continue.

“I feel… wrong, most days. Like I’m still me, but I’m in the wrong order or something. I look in the mirror and… I don’t know who I am, and…” Louis’ voice constricted and he didn’t continue.

“Lou,” Harry kissed his hair, because his mouth could only soothe with kisses; he had no words to stop the poison, no antidotes either.

“I don’t know anything anymore, Harry. Maybe they’re right. What if God does hate this. What if He’s looking down on us right now and we disgust Him.”

Harry followed Louis’ gaze upwards.

“I’ve always loved God,” Louis continued, perhaps finding it easier to talk to the heavens. “I loved how He made everything beautiful. It felt so special that the God of this whole universe cared enough to save me.” He paused. “And what if I’m throwing that away. What if we’re throwing heaven away, Harry.”

Harry felt chills accost his body. The breeze picked up and tangled their hair together.

“But if God made everything beautiful, maybe he meant to make us like this?” Harry offered.

“Or it’s part of the curse, like our parents always said. And we’ve just been cursed more. And He expects us to overcome it.”

They didn’t feel like Louis’ words. They sounded too hollow. 

“You don’t really believe that, Lou, they’re just getting in your head.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore, Harry. It’s all a mess now.” Louis crossed his arms over himself. “It all hurts.”

Harry reached for Louis’ shoulders, his ache pulsing insidiously. “But I don’t hurt, do I? You still…”

Harry let his words trail off and instead found Louis’ lips in the darkness and kissed him. Louis didn’t move at all.

Harry leaned away, his insides twisting in knots. “Lou?” He asked again.

“It’s hard, Harry,” Louis whispered, his voice tight. “Everything hurts now.”

Harry wanted to shriek. “Even when I touch you?”

Louis shuffled upright, sitting so that he could once again hold his knees. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

Harry nearly choked. He instinctively reached out to bury himself in Louis’ arms, then stopped short. Instead he burst into tears.

“Don’t cry Haz, gosh, please don’t,” Louis pleaded. “It’s just, right now it’s hard to switch back and forth. It would maybe be easier if…if…”

Harry knew his next words and he refused to let them be spoken.

“No, no, no!” With a horrible scraping half cry, Harry scrambled backwards. “You said you were strong enough, Lou! You promised it was just acting! You PROMISED!” For the second time that night Harry let his selfish jealously rule him.

“Well I’m not, okay? I’m not! I can’t do it anymore Harry, its pulling me apart and I just CAN’T DO IT!”

Harry had never heard Louis scream. It jolted him, stung him like a hoard of wasps. Staggering up, he stood and looked down on Louis’ huddled form.

“Then I won’t make you,” Harry finally said, his tone flat. “I’ll go.”

When Louis didn’t look up from his hands, Harry turned to leave. He’d gone two paces before Louis' soft voice called out,

“Just for a little while, Hazza. We can meet again in a little while, I promise.”

Harry didn’t turn around. “How long is a little while?” He asked.

“You once said you’d wait forever for me.”

Harry bit back a sob. “But we don’t have forever now, do we, since we’ve both been kicked out of heaven.”

Louis didn’t respond.

“Bye, Lou,” Harry whimpered, turning to glance at his best friend one last time before making his feet move, one in front of the other, towards home. It almost didn’t feel like walking away from the only person he needed like air to breathe. Instead he left behind a new creation: a Louis who didn’t fix his fringe, who didn’t kiss him back, who cringed at his touch.

In that moment Harry learned to hate, and he hated the church most of all, and he hated religion, and as he trudged through the undergrowth, he admitted to the trees and the following black cat that he hated God. He hated God.

 

Harry didn’t creep back to his own room, but Gemma’s. He poked at her shoulder until she woke up.

“Huh?” She sounded annoyed and sleepy.

“It’s me,” Harry said softly.

“Harry?” Gemma sat up quickly. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Harry had told himself he wouldn’t cry, but he spiraled anyway.

He blubbered for a good ten seconds. “G-Gems, it’s L-L-Louis,” Harry sobbed, sinking to the floor as he pressed his hands to his face.

“Okay, take five deep breaths. Ready? One locomotive, two locomotives, three locomotives, four locomotives, five locomotives.” Gemma prodded him up and brought him to sit next to her on the bed. “Now speak slowly, Harry. What happened with Louis?”

“It’s working, that counseling they’re doing. He doesn’t want me anymore. He’s courting a girl, and he doesn’t want me to touch him,” Harry said, his words gushing out quickly despite Gemma’s request.

“He’s dating a girl?” Gemma repeated back.

“He doesn’t want us anymore, Gems, he said it’s splitting him apart. He doesn’t want to be together.” Harry cried so forcefully he felt his eyes going bloodshot.

“Okay Harry, you need to breathe. Can you do that?”

Harry nodded, welcoming Gemma’s steadying arms around him.

“First of all, of course Louis is saying that. He’s hurting, and he wants the pain to stop. You can’t take this personally. Louis still wants you, I’m absolutely sure.”

Harry sniffed loudly, her words needling through his defenses.

“Secondly, we need a plan. We need to get him out of that church now. Either that or I’m calling child services or something.”

“He’s eighteen, Gemma, and nobody’s forcing him to go. He agreed to do it. He said he was strong enough…” Harry broke into tears again.

“People say a lot of thing to save hurting those they love. I think there’s a lot Louis hasn’t told you, bub. I’ve heard about conversion therapy, they don’t just read you Bible verses and pray.”

“Stoooooop,” Harry moaned, the ache mushrooming in his chest again, “They’re not like that, Gemma, no one would… his mom wouldn’t let…”

“Harry, you just don’t know that. _Shit_. As soon as mom and dad started going to this fucking church—“

“Gemma what do I do?” Harry cried into her shoulder.

“We make a plan. I have some friends at school who got kicked out by their families, and they take in gay kids all the time. He could stay there a while. Hell, he can live in my apartment with me, it doesn’t matter, we just need to get him out of there. You need to find out when we can take him away, what he needs to pack, all of that.”

“You mean you want him to leave his family?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Harry, his family is sending him to conversion therapy, aren’t they?”

“He won’t want to leave, Gemma, he loves his mom more than anything in the whole world, and his sisters. It would kill him to just run away, that’s why he agreed to this in the first place.”

“Look, if you can figure out another option, then okay. I just know that we need to help him if we can.”

Harry nodded against her. “I’ll think of something. There has to be some way.”

Gemma kissed his hair. “You know I love you, right? And I’m sorry that this is all so awful. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, baby brother.”

“I’m not alone.” Harry felt two tears drip off the tip of his nose. “Louis is.”

 

Harry barely slept, and when he did it was fitful at best. By the next morning he had the semblance of a plan, though.

He’d been to Zayn’s house all of once, when the art class had taken a field trip and the bus had dropped everyone off at their homes afterwards. Harry only remembered where Zayn lived because his house stood right across the street from the K-Mart where Anne always bought sandals.

It took him forty-five minutes by bike, and he didn’t have Zayn’s number; Harry had little choice but to just show up and hope for the best. He parked nervously in front of a light blue two-story house that sported immaculate gardens brimming with wildflowers.

He only had to knock twice before a little girl with Zayn’s big brown eyes opened the door.

“Who’re you?” She asked, one tiny hand cocked on her hip.

“Um.” Harry cleared his throat. “I was wondering if Zayn is home.”

The little girl nodded, then turned her head and full on yelled, “ZAYN! YOU HAVE A FRIEND TO PLAY!”

She let the door swing open and skipped back towards the living room. Harry stood there awkwardly, shuffling his feet from side to side.

“Harry?” Zayn lightly jumped down the stairs, skidding to a halt at the open door. “You’re the last person I expected to see.” He smiled warmly and motioned Harry inside.

“Um, I uh…” Harry felt so exposed and raw asking for help.

“Want some soda?” Zayn made for the kitchen, beaconing him to follow.

“Sure,” Harry said, though he really didn’t.

“So what’s up,” Zayn said as he popped the lids of their Pepsi’s, sliding one across the faux marble counter to Harry.

“It’s about my friend,” Harry said, taking a long sip. Maybe he did need soda after all.

“Is he okay?” Zayn asked, his eyebrows rising in concern.

“No. Not really.” Harry found it hard to continue, but he made himself, he forced himself. “I think the counseling is working. He doesn’t want me to touch him anymore. He said everything is hurting him. They’re making him court a girl at church and… my sister thinks I should help him run away. But he loves his family a lot and only agreed to do the counseling so he could stay with them and everything would be the same and—“

Harry’s voice rose incrementally until he inevitably began to cry. Zayn came around the counter and embraced him.

“Harry, the therapy’s not working. It never does. He’s just shutting down, trying to stop feeling so bad. We need to get him out of there.”

Zayn let him go and stepped back, placing both hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry looked at the thin boy, his spiky black hair styled neatly with gel, a paintbrush and pencil resting behind his ear, a necklace of some sort disappearing into his tie-dyed t-shirt.

“You’ll help him?” Harry asked, amazed Zayn’s offer from so many weeks ago still held true.

“Of course, Harry. I didn’t mention it before, but my dad’s been an LGBTQ activist ever since my uncle came out when they were in high school. My dad’s family is really religious too, and at first it was rough for them, but eventually they understood. So he gets it. Let me ask him to talk to some people at the community center. I know they’ll have ways to help. When will you see him next?”

“Tomorrow. He should be at church.”

“Pass him a note or something. Let him know you have a plan, ya? Sometimes just knowing you have options can help a lot. Tell him he’s not alone.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears again. Zayn pulled out two stools from under the counter and sat down on one, motioning Harry to take the other.

“Wanna talk for a little, Harry? Tell me the whole story?”

Harry nodded and took another sip of his soda. He decided to tell Zayn everything.

 

On Saturday night Harry wrote the note and tucked it in his Bible, hoping, somehow, his plan would work. When they got to church the next morning, before he could search Louis out, Liam accosted him.

“Harry! Hey,” he jogged over, all smiles as usual. “We missed you at youth group again. Louis even came this week!”

Harry blinked in shock. “He did?”

“Ya, he and Hannah came together. But we missed you! I could have used you on my team, truthfully.”

“Oh.” Harry fought against the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Whoops,” Liam glanced at his watch, “We’re almost late. Mind if I walk with you?” Liam ushered Harry towards their Sunday school room.

Harry had little choice but to go along. When they entered he immediately saw Louis and Hannah sitting together and Harry’s body split itself between frantic longing and sour jealousy. Louis turned towards him as he starred and their eyes met for a brief second. A soft sparkle fleeted across Louis’ face before Hannah asked him something and touched his arm, stealing back his attention.

“You can sit here, Harry,” Liam offered, plunking down in the second row. Harry felt too weak and tired to protest. He sat.

“There’s a bonfire on Tuesday, out at Mason’s farm. They’re gonna have lots of food and games and sing hymns and stuff. It’ll be like spring break!” Liam nudged Harry with his elbow.

“Oh,” Harry replied again, entirely uninterested.

He couldn’t focus on Pastor James’ lesson; instead he found his gaze drifting to Louis and Hannah far too many times. Louis didn’t fidget once, sitting perfectly still beside her, and Hannah, oblivious to this oddity, smiled happily the whole time, clutching Louis’ hand whenever she could, being very gentle and sweet with him.

Despite the air conditioning, by the end of the hour Harry had sweated through his socks and begun on his shirt. He hadn’t calculated Hannah into his note-passing plans and now he didn’t quite know what to do.

As class ended, Harry made a beeline for Louis.

“Louis! Can I, um, talk to you a second?” He asked, his eyes betraying perhaps his whole soul.

“Harry, oh my gosh, I’m finally meeting you! Louis’ sisters talk of NO ONE else. I mean, I’ve seen you around, but we’ve never really talked. I’m Hannah.”

She held out her hand to Harry. For a moment he couldn’t make his arm move, but finally he managed to reciprocate. Her hand was warm and soft and he wanted to scrape it off himself like a poisonous fang.

“N-nice to meet you,” Harry heard himself say, thankful for his ingrained manners.

“Seriously, they talk about you constantly. I’m so excited to finally meet the bestie!” She scrunched her nose up in what Harry assumed everyone else saw as a cute smile.

“What did you need, Harry?” Louis asked, devoid of any familiar tone towards him.

“Um, I…” Hannah clearly had no intention of leaving Louis’ side. Harry couldn’t very well pass a note to him now. “I was wondering if, um, if you had a ride to the bonfire? On Tuesday?”

Hannah answered for him, squeezing Louis’ arm. “Yes! My mom is taking us. You’re welcome to come along too, Harry,” she offered.

“No that’s, that’s okay.” Harry tried to smile, but failed miserably.

“But you’ll be there?” Louis asked.

Harry met his eyes for a moment, and in their light blue he saw sentences not said aloud, words that were meant just for him.

_I miss you. I’m sorry. I’m aching too. Don’t let me go_.

Harry nodded, breaking their gaze. Hannah smiled and said goodbye, taking Louis’ arm as they walked side by side up to the main service. Though Harry followed a good distance behind, he couldn’t miss the moment when Hannah and Louis strolled right up to Jay and she embraced the girl in a tight hug. Jay positively glowed and Louis stood watching her happiness, enraptured, his own sallow face warming at his mother’s smile. In fact he seemed to almost feed off of Jay’s joy, and perhaps that alone kept him upright. Louis certainly didn’t seem spunky enough to walk under his own power.

The note grew damp where Harry had crumpled it in his palm. He’d have to find another way.


	29. The Fire, The Note, And The Nail-polish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that deals with attempted suicide, fyi

Around half past six on Tuesday Anne dropped Harry off at the Mason farm. The kids from his youth group were already swarming the place, but Harry had little trouble locating Louis and Hannah; they were helping with hot dog and s’more preparations.

A small group of boys, Liam in their midst, had begun to build up the bonfire. Harry decided to join them and bide his time until he could get Louis alone. Head down, he walked swiftly across the grass, hoping Hannah wouldn’t notice him. He had no such luck. 

“Harry! Perfect timing! Mrs. Mason needs a cooler for soda brought down from the house. Can you help Louis?” Hannah asked, flashing him a happy smile.

Oh. Well this had worked out rather nicely. Harry tried not to look startled. “Um. I suppose.”

Louis left Hannah’s side and motioned for Harry to follow him up to the farmhouse. Only when they’d gotten a comfortable distance away from Hannah did Louis speak.

“Can you meet me, tonight, behind the farthest barn?” He whispered, his eyes strait ahead, not looking at Harry.

“Y-yes, of course, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Good. When it’s dark, like around eight thirty.”

Louis still didn’t glance at him as they ascended the porch steps and found the cooler, each of them taking a side and heaving. Mrs. Mason had loaded it with ice, and Harry noticed that Louis couldn’t lift his end without difficulty.

“Lou, you okay?” He asked, ready to carry the whole thing himself.

“Ya, _fine_ , Harry,” Louis replied, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“Oh Lou.” Harry could have said ‘don’t lie,’ ‘like shit you are,’ ‘fuck this,’ but he didn’t need to, his tone said it all. Louis stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Harry to halt as well. They were just out of ear-shot of the house.

“I’m fine, Harry.” Louis looked up at him at last and Harry knew then why he’d avoided locking their eyes. There lay such tenderness and longing buried in Louis’ pupils that were they to stare at each other too long, Harry would have thrown all caution to the wind and run to him and kissed him in the open, not caring anymore.

“Tonight,” Louis whispered, a smile flitting about his lips. “We’ll talk tonight, okay?”

Harry nodded and they started walking again, the cooler full of ice and soda clanking between them like battle armor.

 

The evening passed slowly, and every time Harry checked his watch or the sun, time seemed to slow down even more. People began roasting marshmallows and burning stick ends and playing games in the firelight. A small group led by Pastor James began singing campfire hymns, while Liam and Ben and a cluster of other boys played “Protestant in the Inquisition.” Hannah miraculously became busy talking to a gaggle of other girls, and as Harry noticed this, he also realized Louis had disappeared.

He checked his watch one last time: eight twenty-five. He mumbled to Aiden, who sat next to him, that he needed another cup of water, but as he slipped out of the firelight he didn’t head towards the refreshment table.

Getting to the barn took longer than he’d anticipated as the crop field contained rocks and large holes, uneven and dangerous in the dark. He eventually reached the farthest barn, though, and had just rounded the corner when Louis uttered his name like a secret. 

“Harry.”

Harry smiled into the darkness, rushing towards Louis’ voice and folding his body around him.

He could feel the knobs of Louis’ spine, and worried that if he squeezed too hard he’d crush him. Louis felt so very fragile.

“Lou, are you alright? I’ve been so worried. I’ve missed you so much. I—I’m so sorry I just walked away, and I need to tell you—“

“Shhhh, Harold,” Louis’ voice sounded weary, tired. “Don’t be sorry. And I’m fit as a fiddle. In fact, I’m better than ever. I even brought you a proper present to make up for everything.”

Louis dug into his jeans pocket and pressed a small box into Harry’s palm. “You can’t open it here, though. Have to wait ‘til you’re home. Maybe like, tonight, after the bonfire, around eleven. Open it then, and I’ll be thinking of you, okay?”

Harry nodded, enjoying the thrill of the little package against his fingertips, but still wrinkling his brow in confusion. “You don’t have to make up for anything, Lou, what are you talking about?”

“Just… I wanted to give you this. So you don’t think I didn’t mean it.”

“Lou?” He stepped into Louis’ space cautiously. “Didn’t mean what?”

Harry yearned to reach out and touch him, to comfort him.

“Can I—can I kiss you, Lou, or does it still hurt?”

Louis’ breath caught.

“Yes, kiss me, Hazza, touch me. Please.”

Harry needed no other invitation. He reached out and lightly traced his fingers along Louis’ cheekbones. Louis leaned into their contact like a kitten, his breath coming in short little bursts. 

“My only angle,” Harry whispered, biting his lip til he tasted blood.

They had hacked apart the David; they’d dismantled Louis piece by piece, chipped away at the boy Harry loved, and Harry ached to gather the pieces and put him back together again. He just didn’t know how.

“You’re so warm, Hazza.”

Harry started to kiss him, pecking Louis’ lips, his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, his jaw line, his neck. Louis stood very still and let Harry press his moist mouth wherever he liked. Little by little he inched closer to Harry until they became flush to each other and could entwine their arms. Louis began humming softly, and eventually started to pepper Harry’s face with little kisses of his own. The moment Louis moved on to Harry’s lips they were both licking into each other’s mouths, needy and starved. Louis bit down, and Harry moaned. Their teeth knocked together but they didn’t care. Fire churched in Harry’s groin, the ache streaked up and down his spine, and he could think of nothing else save having Louis closer, closer, closer.

“You make me feel so alive,” Louis said, his lips coated in their spit as he pulled away to whisper against Harry’s ear.

“Lou?”

“Ya?”

“I have to tell you something.” Harry had to tell him several things, but in that moment, he knew which one must come first.

Louis pulled back and brought a hand up to cup Harry’s jaw. “Go ahead, Hazza.”

“I love you.”

Harry let his words hang in the air between them a moment before he continued.

“I’ve loved you always, Lou, even when I didn’t know what it was. I should have told you months ago when I figured it out. But I love you. I love you, Louis.”

He didn’t know what he expected, but he wasn’t anticipating Louis tumbling into him and gripping him in a vice-like hug, his arms tight as metal clamps.

“You love me?” Louis whimpered, and Harry could hear him holding back sobs.

“So much, Lou.”

Louis didn’t let go. He clung on deftly, so much it threatened Harry’s breathing, but he didn’t protest. He petted Louis’ hair and kissed his ear, those being the only parts he could reach with Louis so smooshed against him.

Finally the smaller boy loosened his grip and drew back. “I love you too. Have for ages. Always will. Never forget that, Harry, promise me?”

“Why would I forget?” Harry smiled, one dimple popping.

“Just. Promise me.”

“Promise.”

“Kiss me? Before we leave?” The way Louis said it sent a chill down Harry’s spine.

“Ya, of course, but Louis there’s something else I have to tell you.” Louis stared at him calmly, but his eyes were somewhere else, and Harry wondered if he was even listening. He continued nonetheless. “I talked to Zayn, and Gemma, and we have a plan. They’re on our side, on your side, and we’re working stuff out. You wouldn’t have to leave far, and this whole group of people would help.”

Harry wondered if he sounded as jumbled as he felt.

“You’re so sweet, Hazza,” Louis said, talking his hands.

“So what do you say? You can pack some stuff and they can come get you whenever, and you’ll have a safe place to go. And I’ll be there.”

Louis squeezed his fingers. “You’ve got it all planned, I see,” he said tenderly.

“Yes, all you have to do is say when. Will you, Lou? Please?”

Louis answered him with a kiss. Harry could taste salt this time, he guessed from tears. Had Louis been crying in the darkness? Their tongues moved slickly against each other, hot and thick, and their lips were bit swollen when finally, Louis pulled away.

“That was a perfect kiss to remember,” Louis murmured, thumbing over Harry’s dimples.

“Lou, will you?”

“Everything will be better soon, Hazza, don’t worry. Eleven o’clock, open it and think of me, ‘kay?” Louis whispered, already backing away towards the bonfire, his fingertips grazing Harry’s as they parted.

“And I love you, Harry, don’t forget, ever,” Louis whispered, a bit louder, as he began jogging back. Harry heard a strange catch in his voice and wondered briefly if Louis had started crying again. The darkness made it impossible to see.

As Harry started to walk back, taking the opposite direction to Louis, he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling much better about everything. He’d relayed the message and Louis knew that a plan awaited him, ready to be put into action. And, _and_ , Louis still wanted him. Louis _loved_ him. The real Louis still survived. With that thought in his mind Harry returned to the bonfire and watched Hannah flit around his best friend for the remainder of the evening.

When everyone began to head home a little after ten, Harry barely caught a glimpse of Louis stooping into Mrs. Walker’s car. He’d meant to say goodbye, at least with a glance, but he’d missed his chance.

When Harry got home he took a long shower and washed off all the clinging smoke. Gemma had gone out with friends, guaranteed to return at some unsavory hour of the morning. Anne asked him how the bonfire had been, and even ventured to wonder about Louis’ girlfriend. Harry relayed that he’d met Hannah, she was nice, and he said no more. At ten to eleven he hunkered down in his bed with Louis’ little box and watched his alarm clock. For every minute he counted, the clock seemed to think him too fast. Finally the display changed to eleven up and Harry ripped into the present, warm feelings trickling down to his belly. He popped open the lip and watched with a thrill as he turned the tiny box upside down. A smooth glass thing dropped into his palm along with a folded sheet of yellow notepaper. Harry picked up the paper first, recognizing Louis’ messy scrawl.

_I’m sorry for everything, Haz. I’ve missed you every second. I wish I could go back and change it all, all except meeting you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, always know that. I wanted to give you this. I thought you could do your toes, and no one will ever know. Lots of socks for you ;) I know you’ll look so pretty, Harry. My pretty boy. You’re the prettiest boy in the whole world, and the kindest, and the funniest. I know I haven’t told you this yet, but I love you, Hazza. You’ve meant the whole world to me. Enjoy the rainbows. Xoxo -Lou_

Harry looked down at the vile of nail polish in his palm. It shimmered with a million flecks of rainbow glitter. He yanked off his slippers and shook the tube, hearing the bead clack against the glass. Unscrewing the lid, he pulled the thin little brush free. The glitter stuck to it like snowflakes, and Harry giggled in joy. The smell burned his nose but he didn’t care; he tucked his knees up and bent down as far as he could, pulling the viscous polish over his toenails. Little thrills jumped up and down his spine as he did one after another. He liked painting his big toe best, but he made sure to coat each one several times for optimal sparkles. When he deemed his paint job good enough he closed the polish and blew steadily at his toes, wiggling them, watching the rainbow glitter catch the light of his bedside lamp. He sighed in happiness.

The doorbell rang then, twice in quick succession, then a third time. Harry bolted out of his room, thinking it must be Gemma. He’d gotten halfway down the stairs when Anne opened the front door.

“Jay!” She exclaimed, but didn’t say more because Jay fell against her, crying uncontrollably, a piece of paper clutched in her hand. Mark stood stoically behind her, his face white.

“Is Louis here?” Jay cried, and from the banister Harry could see her nails digging into Anne’s shoulders.

“I—I don’t think so?” Anne answered, bewildered. Jay then spotted Harry on the steps.

“Did he call you? Did he say anything? Oh God,” Jay’s hand came up to cover her face and she sobbed into it.

“What’s happened?” Anne asked, pulling Jay back into her arms as Robin hurried over from the kitchen.

Mark took the paper from Jay’s fierce grip and held it out to Anne. 

“We found this in his room.” Mark’s voice was flat, void. “Chance wouldn’t stop barking at his door.”

An awful pressure built behind Harry eyes and like a robot in slow motion he felt himself come to stand behind his mother. He looked down at the familiar writing.

_Mom, Dad, I love you so much. I just can’t do this anymore. There’s nothing left but lies, now, and I’m dying on the inside anyway. If I could change everything, I would. At first I was just going to fake it, but then I did try, I promise. But I couldn’t change. This is hurting me so much every second I still breathe. I want the pain gone. It doesn’t matter if I tell you now. I fell in love. Maybe if I hadn’t, I could live like this, but now it’s impossible to go back. Now that I’ve been truly happy everything else is ash. I love you too, though, and the girls. It’s why this is the only way. I can’t stand to break your hearts. I can’t watch you cry anymore. This is better, I promise. God can’t refuse me if I go now. I’ve had a really great life, honest. Please don’t hate me, remember me how you loved me, that’s my only request. I love you both. -Louis_

Harry couldn’t move. He needed another moment. He could face if he had one more moment. The pieces clicked and the ache burned as if it had ripped him open, the pain so searing that soon Harry just felt numb. How had he not realized?

_You’ve meant the world to me._

_That was a perfect kiss to remember._

_Open it then, and I’ll be thinking of you, okay?_

He opened his mouth to scream, but his lungs had locked together and he couldn’t make them inflate. Instead he screamed inside his mind and it sounded just as loud.

“You called the police?” Robin asked, his voice tight.

“Yes. They’re checking bridges. We just don’t know where he would have gone.”

“Son, did you and Louis have any hideouts? Clubhouses? Anything?”

“Harry? Honey?” Anne had been gently shaking his shoulder. Harry hadn’t noticed. “Sweetheart, can you think of anywhere Louis would go?”

“Maybe you boys made a fort in the park? Or did he go any places near his school?” Robin asked, his face flushed with worry. He laid his large hands around Harry’s shoulders, and they steadied him, anchored him upright. Harry would have crumbled otherwise.

“I—I—“ Harry tried to make his mouth work. “It’s too late, he said think of him at eleven and its—“ Harry couldn’t finish. In his mind he could only see Louis’ face, his smile, his laugh, his brilliant blue eyes crinkling up and reflecting all the stars in the sky.

“Oh God I’ve lost him, I’ve lost him.” Jay started sobbing again, turning into Mark’s arms, her whole body shaking. “We did this, Mark, we did this. Oh God. Oh God no, forgive me, not my baby.”

Suddenly it hit Harry. They did have a secret place. “Behind the old station, in the woods. We used to meet there,” Harry said, his voice surprising him by coming out soft and steady, though he felt like sobbing too.

“The train station?” Mark asked, his forehead creasing.

Harry nodded.

“The quarry,” Robin said simply. Anne turned and looked at him, her eyes flashing with understanding. Mark yanked his cell from his pocket and handed Jay to Anne, stepping back outside the door as he dialed the police.

“I’ll grab flashlights,” Robin said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder one more time before hurrying off towards the basement.

Moments later they piled into the Tomlinson’s van and Mark drove too quickly down the dark, abandoned streets. Harry had always walked to the thicket; they arrived sooner than he’d expected. The police had gotten there before them, their flashing lights illuminating the old station buildings and freight cars with frenzied flashes. Mark hurried to bring an officer to where Harry stood watching, dazed.

“Son, can you take us to where you’d meet?” The uniformed man asked, a flashlight held aloft in his hand.

Harry nodded, numbly, watching as the other officers shone searchlights along the ground, heading towards the barbed-wire fence of the quarry.

He led the policeman into the thicket, letting the brambles scrape his arms and legs, letting anything hurt him, because pain made the numbness less, it allowed him to focus, to not succumb to the drowning flood inside him.

“Doesn’t look like he’s been here,” the officer said, shining his light around the undisturbed little clearing and patting Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Harry turned to follow him, his body on autopilot. Several twigs snapped beneath his feet and he almost stumbled on a log. He wanted the spinning in his head to stop, wanted his heart to cease thudding against the wall of his skin like it meant to climb out and run away.

They reached the parked vehicles again just as the officer’s walkiclip beeped on his shoulder. “I found a fresh cut, looks brand new. There’s a clear path for a few feet in the grass, then it disappears.”

The officer jogged towards the convergence of his fellows. Mark, Jay, Anne, and Robin hurried towards the group too, ending their own searches along the fence line.

Harry started to run, but then his knees gave out, and he fell hard to the rocky ground of the railroad tracks. Seconds later he began heaving, puking up mostly water and acid, and it burned terribly, but the pain cleared his mind enough for him to push up and stagger on.

He reached the cluster of police just as they all began to break apart, heading back to their cars, save a couple who had crawled through the cut fence.

“Where are they going?” Harry asked, wiping the spit off his chin.

Jay still sobbed, though she’d gotten quieter now. Mark held her tightly in the darkness.

“They’re going down to the quarry bottom, Harry. They’ve called a dive team and boats.” Robin took in a deep breath as he said it.

“It’s over two-hundred feet down to the water,” Anne murmured, close enough to Robin’s ear that Jay didn’t hear. Harry did, though.

“That’s if he managed to find the water, Anne,” Robin whispered back.

“I’m going to help,” Harry announced, sticking his flashlight in his mouth and pulling apart the cut chain-link.

“Harry—“ Anne started out some type of protest but Robin touched her arm.

“Let him go.”

Harry crawled through, his scraped knees matting into grass and dirt, the debris sticking to his bloody pajama bottoms. He could see where the two policemen had stomped down a path; he didn’t follow that, instead heading in the opposite direction along the ridge.

He didn’t know how far in the foliage extended before it gave way to a steep cliff face, so he just wandered, indirect, frantic yet deadly calm, crazed, yet oddly far too sane. Maybe a half hour later he finally came to the rock edge. He could see the whole round quarry, it’s white walls spotlighted with flashing blue and red from the vehicles now at its bottom. Harry peered over to the lake and stone piles below, watching in dizzy disbelief as a search boat with massively bright flood lights skimmed across the water.

Falling back on his tailbone, Harry clasped his arms around his knees and sunk his teeth into the meet of his left arm. Then he screamed. He screamed until his voice had gone and nothing remained save garbled vocal wreckage fazing in and out of audible range.

“This is all your fault,” Harry said, with barely a squeak of volume. “You did this to him. You promised you loved us and you destroyed us. And I _HATE_ you. So much.” Harry sniveled into his sleeve. “If you’re even real. I think I might hate you more if you’re not. I don’t know. He was perfect. Couldn’t you see that? Couldn’t you see that you’d never made a person so amazing? Why did I love him more than you did! _YOU_ were supposed to love him that much, and you _DIDN’T_.”

Harry sobbed and sobbed, wishing so much it were all a horrible dream. “God… please, please. Please, God. I’ll do anything. I’ll be anything. You can have me instead. Please, please, please. Take me, take me, God!”

Harry’s chest couldn’t heave fast enough, and he choked in air, breathless. “God please hear me. If you ever loved me, save him. I’m begging you with my whole heart. I need him.” 

Harry felt no change in the air, nor heard any voice from the stars. Why had he even dared to hope for a miracle? He opened his tear-crusted eyes and saw only the refracting ambulance lights and dark shadows of the opposite cliff.

But then something brushed against his arm.

He flinched, panicky and startled. The stray black cat sat next to him, flicking its tail. He stared at the creature and the cat stared back, its yellow eyes shining. In a simple fluid motion, it stood and walked a few paces off, then stopped and turned, looking at Harry once more.

Harry got up and followed.

They walked along the cliff edge as Harry shone his flashlight into the shrubbery. The cat turned back occasionally, perhaps to make sure he followed, but otherwise kept a steady pace. Near a jutting bit of rock the cat halted, this time letting out a high pitched yowl. Harry wiped at his eyes, clearing the blurry tears.

“I don’t speak cat,” he murmured at the feline. The cat gave another cry, then sprang into the thicket and disappeared.

Harry shone his light around. He saw nothing unusual, nothing out of place. No sign of Louis. He had nursed a wild hope… but no.

As he turned to walk back a strong breeze hit him. It blew his curls across his face and forced him to take a steadying step. The night hadn’t been gusty before, but as the wind came through the sparse trees, Harry heard it moan, high pitched and lamenting.

Oddly, as he listened, Harry recognized the wind’s tone. It sounded like a bell in a storm. In a moment of dawning revelation he scrambled towards the cliff edge and laid on his stomach, shining his flashlight down.

He screamed as the beam fell on Louis, who lay crumbled on a protruding ledge some twenty feet below. He’d landed on his back and his limbs were bent at strange angles and Harry could see blood staining beneath his nose, but his head kept turning side to side and his fingers twitched.

Louis was alive.

“HE’S HERE! HE’S ALIVE! I FOUND HIM! HE’S UP HERE! HEY!” Harry screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking like bubble-wrap. He waved his flashlight around until the search beam pointed up at him, and subsequently, at Louis. Soon he heard the thrum of engines.

New tears had started streaming down his cheeks, hot, fresh ones that tasted like honey as they dripped to his lips. Harry couldn’t stop smiling as he flattened himself once more and kept the light shone on Louis’ face.

“Lou? Lou you’re gonna be okay. They’re coming to get you out of there, you just have to hold on, alright? Can you hear me Lou?” Harry blubbered out, wishing he could touch him, hold him. “I love you so much Lou. Please stay awake, I need you with me.”

Harry repeated himself endlessly until the paramedics found them, followed shortly by Jay and Mark and Harry’s parents. A ladder was lowered, and an EMT descended, followed by a stretcher. It seemed ages before they pulled him up, but in reality only a few minutes passed. Harry waited nervously, his relief tempered by so many unknowns. Anne held him close, saying nothing.

As Louis finally cleared the cliff, strapped down to the stretcher, his head stabilized between foam blocks, Harry broke from Anne and ran towards him. Jay followed. A female paramedic addressed them as she and two others carried Louis towards the fence line and the waiting ambulance.

“He’s slipping in and out of consciousness, but his vitals seems stable. We’ll know more once we get him to the hospital.”

They loaded Louis in and Harry scrambled up too, waiting for neither permission nor invitation. Jay followed him. The paramedics let them hold Louis’ hands as they worked, testing this and that and shoving various needles into his arms. The vehicle started moving as Jay’s soft, tearful confessions tumbled from her lips. Louis couldn’t hear them, perhaps, but Harry could.

“My darling boy, mommy’s so terribly sorry, my baby, I love you, I love you Louis, just how you are, my darling,” Jay murmured, bending to kiss his limp fingers, oblivious to Harry or the paramedics, her eyes only for Louis.

Harry stared at his best friend, at the dried blood under his nostrils, at the mess of his fringe, at his oily eyelids, closed and slightly pink against his pale skin. Louis had lived, Louis had lived, Louis had lived.

“He’s in God’s hands now,” Jay said, her voice weary.

“I don’t think God wants him,” Harry responded. “But I do.”


	30. "Perfect Love Casteth Out Fear"

Harry woke the next morning with a crick in his neck. The events of the previous night flooded back to him as he blinked slowly. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Jolting, he sat up and realized he’d been slumped against Anne in one of the plastic-looking couches of the hospital waiting room.

“Whurishe?” He yelped, still half asleep. Anne squeezed him tightly.

“They took him for surgery several hours ago, honey. He’s doing fine, Jay’s with him in the recovery area. They’ll move him to a room soon.”

“He’s okay?” Harry remembered arriving at the hospital and watching them whisk Louis down a brightly lit hall. He remembered Jay holding him in a crushing hug until everyone else arrived. Sometime after that he must have fallen asleep.

“Try to get some more rest, honey. I’ll wake you up when you can see him, I promise.”

Harry felt he shouldn’t be able to sleep, not with the amount of concern and worry coursing through his body, but somehow he also felt extremely drained, and closing his eyes again seemed a lovely idea.

Anne shook him gently awake an hour later.

A tired looking nurse showed them through the winding halls until they came to a small room with two large windows. She pulled back the privacy curtain to reveal Louis (bandages encasing him, seemingly one giant cast), a sturdy looking male nurse, and Jay, sitting silently in a chair next to his bed.

“He woke up briefly, but then slipped back under. He was asking for you,” Jay said, motioning Harry closer.

“Mom, I’m staying with him,” Harry announced, sitting carefully on the edge of Louis’ bed.

“I know, honey.”

Anne embraced Jay and they exchanged whispered words that Harry neither heard nor cared about. He studied Louis’ peaceful face and ingrained it into his memory, content to sit and watch him breathe forever.

Louis began to stir. Harry had never seen a butterfly emerge from its cocoon, but watching Louis’ eyelashes flutter open beat that in beauty a thousand-fold. His heart nearly burst with happiness as he wrapped his fingers around Louis’ un-casted hand and smiled down at him.

“Hazza?” Louis’ voice sounded groggy, and he slurred a bit.

“I’m here, Lou. I’m with you.”

“Did I tell you, Harry?” Louis asked, his eyes still drooping, and Harry realized the anesthetics hadn’t quite worn off.

“Tell me what, Lou?”

“Mmm. That I love you.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears. He reached a hand up and stroked Louis’ cheek.

“Ya, you told me.”

“I should tell you again. I didn’t say it enough. Wanted to say it more.”

“You told me, Lou, I know. Try to rest, okay?” Harry thrilled just to touch him. “I love you too, Lou.”

Louis’ eyes drifted closed once more. “I remember that. I’ll never forget.”

He fell back asleep, his lips parting softly while Harry continued to trace along his delicate cheekbones for another moment.

As he drew his hand away, Harry realized that Jay and Anne were watching him, Jay with her hand over her mouth, clearly trying to stave off tears. He blinked at them, but he didn’t move, nor did he make any type of apology for his words or actions. A strange sort of bravery had taken over his soul and he understood now that some things mattered more than others. Maybe he would never have his parents’ love again; and that would hurt him. But he would have Louis. And Gemma. And Zayn. There were other people who would love him, love them both, just the way they were.

Perhaps Anne could sense the resolve in Harry’s eyes, because she walked over to him and embraced him, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll leave Dad’s cell phone, okay? I’ll be back in a little while. Call if you need anything, Harry.”

She left the room, followed by Jay, who explained she had to call Mark and the girls with an update. Cells only worked in the hospital lobby.

Harry pulled over a chair that had been against the wall and hunkered into it, the upper half of his body draped over Louis’ bed. Again he found Louis’ cast-free hand and tucked his fingers inside the blue-eyed boy’s loosely held fist. He could feel Louis’ pulse and hear his soft resting breath, and these were precious reassurances like sunlight in a miry fog. Letting his eyes close, Harry rested his head on the bed sheets and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

 

Louis didn’t wake up properly until that evening. Other nurses were in and out, but the male nurse stayed put, quietly observing Louis from the corner of the room. Jay and Mark were also in and out, taking turns watching the girls. When Louis eventually began to stir, two new doctors came in followed by a kind looking woman with large glasses and a larger clipboard. They asked Harry and Mark to leave the room while they talked with Louis. Harry hated to go, but he had little choice.

A good half-hour later the doctors left, but the woman found Harry waiting in the hallway and pulled him to the side.

“You’re Harry, then,” she stated.

“Y-yes ma’am.”

“You’ve been through a lot, I hear.”

Harry looked down at his shoes. “Louis more than me.”

“I think you’re both very brave, young man.” The woman adjusted her glasses. “I want you to know that I am available at any time if you or Louis need anything, or if you just want to talk.” She handed him a shiny card with her name and office extension.

“Thanks,” Harry said, adding, “He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?”

She looked at Harry warmly and smiled. “He needs time, and all of the love and support he can get.”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll make sure he has it, I promise.”

“Harry, I want you to know how the next few days will progress. I’ve decided to keep Louis here for a little while and let him rest and heal. He’ll meet with me twice a day, and early next week we’ll make some decisions about where he will finish his recovery. Do you understand, do you have any questions?”

Her tone was soothing, warm and soft, and it relaxed Harry quite a lot just to have the certainty of a plan in his mind. He nodded again.

“Can I be with him?”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, provided you let him get plenty of sleep.”

“I promise,” Harry said, meeting the woman’s large grey eyes.

When he re-entered Louis’ room he saw Mark standing by his son’s bedside, holding Louis’ free hand. He didn’t speak, Harry noted, but neither did Louis. Harry resumed his chair just as Mark sniffed loudly and patted Louis’ knuckles.

“I’ll go call mom, son.” He placed Louis’ hand gently across his stomach and reached for his phone as he walked away.

Louis turned to Harry, his eyes tired, but much brighter than Harry had seen them for ages.

“Hi,” Louis said weakly, smiling. “I look like a mummy, don’t I.”

“A bit,” Harry admitted.

Now it came to it, Harry didn’t know what to say. They couldn’t escape the reason Louis lay covered in casts and bandages, his arms hooked up to various monitors, a slow morphine drip pumping into his veins. But even in that stark reality, a blazing relief grew in Harry’s chest. There were so many words they weren’t saying. But they had nothing to run from now.

“Lou?”

Louis let out a long breath. “I’m glad it didn’t work, Harry.”

Harry blinked back tears. “Oh Lou. I’m so happy I could fly.”

Louis smiled just big enough to cause two crinkles to appear around his eyes.

“I had a weird dream. Maybe it’s the drugs,” Louis wrinkled up his nose. “Before I woke up, I was Snow White, and you came and kissed me and made me alive again.”

Harry licked out to wet his lips. “So I’m Prince Charming?”

Louis gave a soft snort. “Obviously you were a noble woodland knight, Hazza.”

Harry leaned closer, Louis’ eyes tracking his until he pressed their mouths together. He touched very gently, slightly parting their lips to feel Louis’ warm, sweet breath on his tongue.

When he pulled away, tears were slipping from Louis’ eyes. Harry caught them with his fingers.

“You can cry, Lou, it’s okay. I’ll wipe your cheeks.”

“Don’t leave me, Hazza,” Louis asked, his lip trembling as Harry reached for a tissue and dabbed it against his face. It became soaked in moments.

“I’ll be right here,” Harry promised.

 

*

Harry practically lived at the hospital for the next two days. On the third, Anne convinced him to come home and take a shower, change, and eat a proper meal; Harry stank like two-day-old clothes and had eaten nothing but puddings and jello. He kissed Louis goodbye before leaving, this time in front of Mark, two nurses, and Jay, then walked to the parking lot and waited for Anne. Her minivan pulled up shortly.

Harry buckled himself in as he answered Anne’s questions about Louis. Yes, the doctors said everything should heal well. Yes, he’d broken four different bones, his left ankle bad enough it had warranted the surgery. Yes, he had a nasty concussion and could have easily fractured his skull. Yes, he’d bruised half his ribs and dislocated his right shoulder.

Harry let the car marinate in silence when he’d finished relaying this information. Then, because what better time to do it than while Anne stared at the traffic in front of her, Harry said,

“Mom, I’m gay.”

Anne didn’t respond, just took a deep breath and flicked on the blinker as she pulled up to a red light. She turned to look at Harry as the car stopped.

“I know.” She didn’t say it cruelly or harshly, but Harry felt her resignation.

“I never meant to break your heart, mom. I never wanted to do that.” Harry fought back tears as his throat tightened.

The light became green, and Anne turned.

“The only way you could break my heart is by leaving me, Harry. I would never recover from loosing my baby boy.”

Harry heard the catch in her voice. He swallowed hard, willing his eyes to remain dry, as they were already raw and red from the last couple days.

“I love you, Harry,” Anne said, her eyes focused decidedly out the windshield.

They were just four little words, but Harry felt like he’d been given the moon. His mom loved him. She knew he was gay. Those facts weren’t mutually exclusive anymore. Harry closed his eyes, failing to keep the tears from slipping out under his lashes.

 

When they arrived home Harry walked through the door in a half daze, entirely unprepared for Gemma to pounce on him. She squeezed him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

“Harry,” She sniffled against his neck, “I’m so sorry, bub. How are you, are you doing alright?” She pulled back and brought her hands to Harry’s head, cradling it gently as she mussed the curls around his ears.

“It kinda feels like a dream,” Harry admitted as Anne passed by them. He didn’t miss the look Gemma shot her.

“I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry, Harry, I promise.”

Harry blinked at her slowly, then whispered, “I told mom, Gems. Just now. She said she still loves me.”

Gemma pursed her lips tightly, her jaw tensing. “I’m glad she said that.”

“I don’t think she’s too mad about it, anymore.”

“Amazing what it takes for that to happen,” Gemma snapped, but not at him. She glared at the coat rack, the crease between her brows deepening. “So you think Louis’ parents are okay with him being gay now? He can’t go home if nothing changes.”

Harry shook his head. “I heard Jay when we found him. She’s sorry.” He felt his throat constrict. “I think they’d rather have Louis gay and alive than…not.”

“God.” Gemma rubbed at her eyes, sighing. “This is so fucking messed up. Do you realize that, Harry? Fuck. Of course you don’t. You don’t have any point of reference outside of—“ Gemma motioned with her arms to the surrounding house—“Here.”

“I’m not stupid, Gemma.”

“I’m not saying that, I’m saying the whole notion that being gay is at least better than being dead is so fucking… terrible. And I wish it weren’t a thought in your head.” 

Gemma sighed and pulled him close again. His sister had always been affectionate, but this felt different, as if she were reassuring herself that Harry was really there, alive, tangible. She clutched him too tightly.

“Things are gonna change around here. I’m not leaving you two in a toxic environment ever again. Mom’s got a big storm coming.”

Harry found himself pressing deeper into her shoulder. “Gems,” his voice sounded so small, even to him, “She said she loves me.”

Gemma released him slowly, her big brown eyes now damp. Harry couldn’t read her expression as she searched his face. Finally, Gemma smiled.

“Go get a shower, you smell like ass. I’ll help mom with food.”

Harry returned her smile, then dragged himself towards the stairs. Exhaustion had started to set in, both mental and physical, and he yawned three times before he made it to the bathroom. As he closed the door, he heard Gemma’s voice carrying from downstairs. She’d started yelling.


	31. Healing Scabs Still Hurt A Lot

Jay had arranged vases of flowers all around the room and scattered ‘get well’ cards laid across the coffee table atop their opened envelopes. Louis coalesced on the pull-out couch, propped up with two pillows and holding a plastic cup complete with straw in his undamaged hand.

“I’ve never had so much space to myself, look at this! The twins aren’t even allowed to play Barbie’s on the floor.” Louis took a sip from the straw and smiled at Harry at bit sheepishly. “Tell me you’ve eaten something besides jello. Cereal? Hotdogs? I’ve asked mom for some tonight, I’m going to puke if I eat one more tub of applesauce. And gosh I’d give anything to get a shower. Never try a sponge bath, Haz.”

Louis babbled as Harry came to sit beside him. It warmed Harry immensely to hear Louis talk, to hear his soft voice form amusing turns of phrase. He’d been discharged the previous night, though Helen, the woman with the large glasses, planned to visit every afternoon. She had released him into Jay’s care, saying in his case, home seemed to be the best site for recovery.

But lots had changed in the little over a week since the incident. One morning as Louis slept Harry had slipped out of his room and called Zayn, telling him everything that had happened. Two hours later Zayn and his dad and several people from the center had descended on Louis’ room, bringing with them three bushels of flowers and several boxes of chocolates. They’d spent most of their time with Jay and Mark, all save Zayn, who introduced himself to Louis and sat by his bedside with Harry for over an hour. When they’d left Harry noticed Jay holding a packet, and throughout the day her and Mark sat reading papers and pamphlets very like the one Zayn had initially given Harry.

The next day two of the center workers had visited again, bringing more shiny handouts, and Harry had heard the lady invite Jay for coffee. Jay had agreed, and left with her as the tall man, called Titus, had handed Mark a sub sandwich and suggested they go eat in the cafeteria. Various people from the center had come to visit throughout the week, bringing Louis homemade sweets and several books and more flowers than could line the window ledge. They’d given Louis papers and pamphlets, too, which Harry read to him diligently. Many of the things Gemma had always said were explained in greater detail, and Harry wondered how he’d ever been so oblivious.

Throughout it all, Louis had seemed chipper, though tired, his injuries causing him a great deal of discomfort. He would paste on a smile when someone visited, but when he thought no one saw he’d let his mouth hang slack. Harry had wanted to tell him that was okay, but he hadn’t known how.

“Brought you these,” Harry said, holding out the Queen Anne’s Lace he’d picked on the bike ride over, “But you’ve got lots prettier flowers, I see,” Harry teased, wondering how they’d transported all the vases from the hospital.

“You think I’ve been flower spoiled, don’t you? That I’m a high petal snob now.” Louis set down his water cup on the side tray and snatched the bouquet from Harry’s hand. He brought them to his nose and took an exaggerated sniff.

“Oooooof!” He sneezed, pollen wafting out in every direction.

“Careful, Lou,” Harry took the flowers back as Louis moaned, his eyes scrunched in pain.

“Bad idea,” he whimpered, laying his head back against the pillows.

Harry plopped the wildflowers in a nearby rose vase.

“Can you stick them in food coloring, Haz? Might as well watch them turn colors, it’s not like I have much else to do,” Louis quipped, but Harry could hear the tension in his voice.

Harry licked his lips and took a deep breath. He spoke gently.

“You can stop trying to make it easier for everyone by pretending you’re okay, you know.”

Harry found his eyes. Louis swallowed and Harry continued.

“I think you’re allowed to be hurt, Lou. I know you’re in pain, all over your body, in your head. I know.”

Louis bit his lip and chewed it, his cheeks drawing tight as his jaw went rigid. He whispered his next words.

“I feel so ashamed, Harry.” His eyes spilled over. He reached up his un-casted hand to scrub them away, but Harry beat him to it, wiping the tears gently with his fingers, as had become his custom.

“You’re the only person who shouldn’t feel ashamed, Lou.”

Louis chuckled sadly at that.

Harry sucked in air. “Actually, I feel horrible I didn’t realize how much they were hurting you.”

Louis huffed out a held breath. “I didn’t want you to see, Hazza.” 

Harry took his hand. “You know you can tell me everything now, right? You’ll never be alone with this again, I promise. Whatever happens, I’m here, and you’re gonna get better, both of us are. We can be enough, Lou. I’ll make us feel like home.”

Louis smiled at Harry through his tears, sniffing as his bright white teeth peeked from his lips for a brief moment.

“When I’m not okay, Haz,” he asked, “Do you think you can you just hold me?”

Harry nodded fervently, crawling onto the pull-out bed and curling up beside him, wrapping his lanky arms around as much of Louis’ casted body as he could. He pressed kisses into the knuckles of Louis’ hand, and when he’d kissed every bit of golden skin, he rubbed little circles into Louis’ warm palm. Jay came to check on Louis several times, but didn’t interrupt their peaceful silence.

*  
During the small amount of time Harry spent at his own house, Gemma flitted around him like a protective mother hen, her zealous devotion irritating Anne. Harry hadn’t really talked to his parents beyond updating them on Louis and discussing everyday things, like how Martha had puked up a hairball the other day smack in the center of Harry’s pillow. Clearly the cat didn’t approve of prolonged absences.

One evening as Harry made his way towards the kitchen to grab an apple, he spotted Anne and Gemma sitting on the porch. The summer air had cooled a little, and the fireflies were coming out. He decided to go join them and had his hand on the screen door when the breeze carried their discussion to his ears.

“You don’t have to believe it’s God’s plan. Doesn’t really matter what you believe, it is what it is, mom.”

“God doesn’t sugarcoat sin, Gemma. It’s the result of living in this fallen world.”

“No, mom, it’s the result of biology, of evolution. It’s because perhaps there was more estrogen present when you carried him. This is proven stuff! Why can’t you just believe me?”

“Because all those fancy professors of yours have an agenda, and it’s to remove God from any type of relevancy in the world.”

Harry watched as the lace curtains swirled into waves. He’d forgotten the windows were open.

“Maybe God shouldn’t have any relevancy in this world if this is the result.”

The porch grew very quiet.

“I know you’ve rejected Him, Gemma. I know how you feel, you’ve made that quite clear.”

“I haven’t rejected God, or the idea of a God, or the existence of a God, mom, just religion! This thing that causes wars and genocides and hatred and… causes teenage boys to try and kill themselves because they’re gay!” Gemma’s voice started climbing.

“Don’t throw that in my face, young lady.”

“You know what, I will. Someone needs to. Dad’s not going to do it. He can at least honestly hide behind his ignorance but you knew. You knew and you buried your head in the sand because you didn’t think it could happen to _our family_. You’re damn lucky it wasn’t Harry in that hospital bed, mom. You’re damn lucky you’re not burying your boy.”

Gemma might as well have slapped her. Harry watched Anne stand abruptly, but before he could hide she strode through the door, nearly colliding with him. She looked at Harry for only a moment before covering her mouth with her hand and hurrying up the stairs. 

Not knowing what else to do, Harry continued out to the porch.

Gemma didn’t look up at him, instead staring at the glass of iced tea in her hands. “I know. That was harsh. But I can’t let it go anymore, Harry, I’m sorry. I know you won’t do it. You’re too kind.”

Harry sat beside her, hunching so he could lean his head against her shoulder. They didn’t say anything more, just sat and watched the sun disappear behind the maple trees until only purple silhouettes remained against the horizon.

*

Louis had wanted to start playing games again within the week, much to Harry’s happiness. In the throws of competition they didn’t have to sit with their thoughts, and this proved a blessed relief. Two boys could only slog through the mires of painful change and healing for so long every day. Uno had become Louis’ go-to game, likely because he could rely on beating Harry soundly nearly every time. He looked forward to this with impish glee.

“Cheater!” Harry yelped as Louis slapped him with two consecutive draw four’s.

“I am not! Blue.”

“You know I don’t have any blue.”

“Well, now I do.” Louis grinned cheekily, his eyes crinkling up to near obscurity.

“Fine,” Harry sighed and drew from the deck. Obviously he wasn’t as irritated as he made out, but he kept up the show. He couldn’t just smile like an idiot every single second, it would ruin the competition of the thing.

“AH HAH!” Harry whooped in celebration, throwing a blue nine onto the pile.

“Mmm, sucks you only had that one blue card, and now,” Louis laid down a blue skip, a reverse, then a zero, “Blue to you again.”

“UNO!” Harry shouted, pointing at the single card Louis held in his hand. “You were so cocky you missed it, heh heh,” Harry laughed, dimpling and shimmying around in a strange sort of victory wiggle.

Louis rolled his eyes and drew two new cards, but Harry could see the smile he kept suppressing.

“Fine, fine, red to you.”

“About time.” Harry had plenty of red.

Louis saw Jay and Mark enter the room first, his eyes leading Harry to turn and look.

“Sorry to interrupt, boys,” Jay said, her hands twined together nervously, Harry thought.

“S’okay mom. Harry’s a sore loser anyways. What’s up?”

“Heyyyyy,” Harry protested.

“We wanted to—to talk to you both a little bit, if that’s okay.”

Harry swallowed and looked to Louis, who nodded with a tiny smile on his face.

Mark and Jay sat down on the loveseat, Mark slightly red-faced as he kept looking down at the carpet.

“Darling,” Jay’s voice had already begun shaking, “We want to apologize to you. We are so, so very sorry, baby.”

Mark squeezed Jay’s hand and finally looked up at Louis. “What I said to you, what we made you do, was horrible, son. What we put you through…” Mark choked up and couldn’t continue.

“I’ll never forgive myself, Louis. It’s the worst mistake of my life. We—“ Jay paused and looked at Mark—“don’t expect you to be able to forgive all the hurt we’ve caused, darling. We would just like to ask you if you’ll give us a chance to do better. We’re never going to be perfect parents, and I’m sure we’ll get plenty wrong, but I promise you, Louis, we will try so hard to support you and love you like you deserve.”

Harry glanced at Louis, wondering how he’d kept so silent with the absolute cascade of tears falling down his face.

Jay bent and plucked Louis a tissue, handing it to him. He took it with shaky fingers and wiped at his eyes and nose.

“Ya, mom, dad, I’d like that. Ya.” Louis nodded, unable to meet their eyes without a new gush of tears pouring out.

Harry moved from his chair to sit next to Louis on the bed, his hand instinctively finding Louis’ and holding tight, even if that meant touching the crumpled, snotty tissue Louis still clasped in his fingers. 

“And Harry, we apologize to you too.” Jay looked at him with a small smile. “And we want to thank you for finding our boy.”

Harry felt his own eyes begin to water as he nodded.

“We thought you’d like to see the new addition to our home, darling.” Jay addressed Louis again, her face now lighting up.

She pulled out a package from a large bag beside her and handed it to Louis. It had been wrapped in silver paper, the kind used for birthday parties or Christmas. Louis held it on his lap and started plucking at the taped edges, looking to Harry for help as he could only use one hand. Harry started popping seams open, allowing Louis to pull apart the wrapping.

Yellow appeared first. The individual stripes didn’t fully register in Harry’s brain as a cohesive thing until Louis started to pull the fabric out slowly, revealing fold by fold the colors of the rainbow. Louis drew it to his chest, watching as it draped long and bright over his knees. For some reason Harry thought of Joseph’s coat of many colors, a gift woven by his mother that marked her love.

“Mom,” Louis sobbed, opening his arm and begging. Jay came to him, wrapping Louis in her steady embrace as he cried. She began to cry too, their voices rising and falling similarly, as if they were petals of the same flower or branches of the same tree.

Mark and Harry watched, doing their best not to break down. As Mark put his head in his hands Harry walked over and, without really thinking about it, threw his arms around him. Mark pulled him close, dwarfing Harry, his broad chest shaking as he cried.

“Dad?” Louis called from Jay’s arms.

Mark clutched Harry against him as he answered his son’s call, piling them both on the hug. Jay somehow found Harry’s hand in their cluster of bodies and held it tightly.

They sat huddled together for several minutes until their tears had turned to soft sighs and gentle back pats.

“Guys, I can’t breathe,” Louis said finally.

Jay kissed him loudly on the forehead. “Harry, will you open the curtains? Mark,” Jay motioned at him, then smiled at Louis and took the flag gently from his lap.

Harry went to the window and pulled up the blinds, then pinned the curtains back in their holders. A soft wind had started outside, causing the leaves to ruffle in the treetops.

He rejoined Louis as Mark stepped out to the front stoop and heaved the flagpole into its holster. As it slid in Mark let go, releasing the banner of rainbows to catch the breeze and billow out like a sail at sea.

Harry turned to Louis. His eyes were wide and shiny, unblinking as he watched the flag wave.

“What d’you think, Lou?” Harry asked.

Louis took a moment to answer, then said resolutely, “I’m free.”


	32. Butterfly Kisses And Happy Surprises

Early August came in all its terrifically hot, dry glory. Grass started to brown from the sun and public swimming pools were filled to capacity. Harry, upon Louis’ profound assurances he didn’t mind being left at home, took all four girls to the water park one afternoon, Gemma coming along too. They had a splendid time, although Harry found himself quite drained by the end of the outing.

Because of the heat, he spent most days in the midst of the Tomlinson’s air-conditioned living room, the ceiling fan turned to high. Louis had started to be a bit more mobile; mobile, in that he had begun to wiggle around on the fold-out bed and move his own pawns during board games.

Harry found himself playing another such board game one particularly hot afternoon. 

“You get another earring, Louis!” Daisy exclaimed, reaching up and carefully attaching the pink clip-on to Louis’ lobe.

“Finally. I felt so lopsided.” Louis smiled at his adoring little sister as she clapped her hands in delight at his attire.

The twins had convinced Harry and Louis to play Pretty Pretty Princess with them. So far, Harry had gotten his necklace and bracelet, but had also acquired the cursed black ring. The twins, of course, were winning, wearing nearly all of their jewelry, but still they cared most about the butterfly crown.

“That’s cheating,” Daisy pouted as Phoebe claimed her prize from atop her sister’s head.

“No it’s not, you can land on it next time.”

“But you had it last time.”

“Hey,” Louis waved his bracelet-laden left hand between them. “Harry and I haven’t had it either, and you don’t see us complaining.”

“But that’s ‘cause you’re boys and you don’t like butterflies. Duh,” Daisy explained, crossing her arms.

Louis cocked his head at her. “Boys can like butterflies, Daisy.”

“Jimmy at school says he hates them,” Phoebe chimed in. “We were doing butterfly kisses and he said that was girly.”

“Butterfly kisses?” Louis gave her a questioning smile. “What on earth’s a butterfly kiss, princess?”

Phoebe wrinkled her nose at him. “You don’t know what a butterfly kiss is?”

Daisy looked similarly shocked.

“’Course he does.” Harry stepped in to save Louis’ honor. “See?”

He leaned over to Louis and began fluttering his eyelashes. Louis didn’t turn away, but neither did he move to meet Harry. He stayed uncharacteristically still until Harry got close enough to feel his hot breath. Finally, Louis blinked his eyes as well and Harry touched their lashes together to the impish squeals of the twins.

As Harry pulled away he saw a rosy blush tinting Louis’ cheeks. 

“Daddy! They butterfly kissed!”

Harry whirled, not having noticed Mark enter the room. He stood observing their game, his hands on his hips, his face breaking into a smile.

“I saw, girls.”

“I didn’t think boys did butterfly kisses,” Phoebe mumbled to the crown.

Mark came and sat beside them on the edge of Louis’ bed.

“Boys can do butterfly kisses just like girls. Boys can also do real kisses too, did you know that?” Mark asked.

Daisy’s mouth dropped open. “No, boys never kiss boys in movies. They always kiss the princess.”

“Sometimes they do. But sometimes boys fall in love with each other, and girls fall in love with each other too.”

Harry didn’t know how to quantify the feeling welling up inside of him; it was either searing joy or unbridled shock or confused euphoria. He glanced at Louis, not at all surprised to see him staring at Mark with tears in his eyes, his lip bitten hard.

“Do you do real kisses to boys too, Harry?” Phoebe asked him innocently, her small hands playing with the plastic beads of her necklace.

Harry swallowed. Well. “Y—ya. I do.”

“Really?” Daisy scooted closer to him, as did Phoebe, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open.

Harry felt a light touch on his arm. Louis had brushed his fingers there, and now that he had Harry’s attention, he nodded ever so slightly and leaned forward.

With a crazed sort of nervousness Harry closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was a small kiss, short and sweet and chaste, little more than pillowed lips and warm skin, but it sent the twins into a fit of giggles and shrieks.

“You real kiss _each other_?” Phoebe squeaked.

“Is Harry your boyfriend, Louis?” Daisy asked.

Louis looked towards where Mark sat, smiling at them all, his face holding a serene sort of sadness that Harry guessed came from heavy remorse.

“I—you know, I don’t think I’ve asked him yet, actually,” Louis said, turning to Harry with large, doughy eyes, the kind that had Harry on his knees in seconds, the kind that made him want to constantly worship Louis’ lips, his collarbones, the crevice between his ribcage…

“Will you be my boyfriend, Harry?”

All the air seemed insufficient to supply Harry with oxygen and he stuttered for breath. His cheeks flushed hotly and he fought the urge to cover them with his hands. Deciding not to help matters, his pulse thumped so quickly in his veins that it sounded like a thunderstorm.

In desperation Harry carefully tucked himself around Louis, burying his face in Louis’ neck and clinging to him tightly, feeling he could explode with joy at any moment.

“Yes, yes of course,” he murmured against Louis’ warm skin, kissing him between words, “Always.”

The twins whooped and chattered in excitement and bounced on the bed and peppered the boys with a thousand questions until Mark finally told them to not tire Louis out and that they needed to go eat their lunch. He took the girls with him to the kitchen, patting Louis gently on the shoulder as he got up.

Harry didn’t really have anything to say. He sat still, dimpled like a love-struck idiot, grinning so big his cheeks hurt. Louis had crinkles all around his eyes and he kept sniffing and licking his lips to keep from crying.

In a frenzied moment of too much dizzy bliss, Harry scooped up the Pretty Pretty Princess crown and placed it atop Louis’ head, wiggling it in place and fixing Louis’ fringe beneath it.

“It suits you,” Harry said, squeezing his boyfriend’s fingers in his own.

Louis looked up, trying and failing to see it. “Of course it does,” he smirked, winking at Harry, his old tone of bravado sending happy tingles up Harry’s spine.

Reverently, like touching the coattails of a saint, Harry went in for another kiss, this time parting his lips and letting his tongue slip through to Louis’ mouth. A hum very like a purr began deep in Louis’ throat as Harry cupped his jaw, feeling the vibration against his fingertips.

Yes, boys could most definitely do real kisses too.

*

The next couple weeks brought two unusual encounters for Harry. The first happened while Harry lounged around at home, waiting for Helen’s appointment with Louis to end. He’d been lying on his bed doing nothing in particular when the doorbell rang. 

“Harry! Honey, you have a visitor!” Anne called.

With Louis still basically immobile Harry had ceased believing the doorbell could ever be for him. Who else would show up unannounced?

He hurried down the stairs, nearly skidding to a dead stop when he saw Liam standing in the entranceway.

“Hi Harry,” he said, a sheepish smile on his face.

Anne patted Harry’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll leave you boys alone. Good to see you again, Liam, tell your parents hello.”

“I will, ma’am.”

Harry eyed the other boy awkwardly, but eventually remembered his manners.

“Um. You can sit if you want.”

“Thanks.”

Harry took the chair across from where Liam had situated himself stiffly on the couch.

“So. What’s up?” He asked, his heart thudding unhelpfully.

“I know it’s been weeks. I wanted to come earlier, but I was too ashamed, honestly. It’s been weighing on me, and I’ve asked God for forgiveness a hundred times, but it’s not really His that I need. It’s yours.” Liam fidgeted with his hands. “Or at least, even if you can’t forgive me, I need to apologize.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, stunned. “Apologize?” He repeated, still confused.

“For my part in, you know, everything that happened. We all—I mean the whole youth group—heard about you and Louis. It’s caused kind of a split, actually. A lot of our families have left Lakeside because of it, I don’t know if you’ve heard. My family left, so did Hannah’s. Basically,” Liam hung his head, “I don’t really know the right answers or anything, but I know what we did was wrong. I can feel that in my heart, clear as day.”

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. “You never actually did anything to us, Liam. You were the nicest.”

Liam smiled. “That’s kind of you to say, but no. I participated in that group, supported the thinking that it practiced. I remember saying things that I’m ashamed of now. I’d have never said them if I knew anyone around was gay, I wouldn’t have… but I can see now that that’s the whole problem. We don’t know how our tossed off words are hurting someone. I think I understand that a bit more now.”

Harry met his eyes. “Thanks, Liam, really. And for my part, sure, of course I forgive you. But it’s really Louis who got hurt, not me so much.”

Liam nodded. “I didn’t know if he’d want to see me. I didn’t want to make him remember stuff he maybe doesn’t want to. I was hoping you could tell him?”

Harry nodded. “Ya, I’ll tell him. But you should tell him too. He’d like to see you. I think it would help, actually, to know people were on his side now.”

Liam visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Do you think he’d be offended if I brought him a card and flowers or something?”

Harry grinned at Liam’s kind sincerity, a warm happiness spreading around inside his heart.

“Oh I think Louis would love that.”

 

The second encounter occurred early one evening as Harry fussed around the kitchen. As the August days turned a bit cooler and rains started coming in every other afternoon, Harry craved the joys of baking. Since Louis still couldn’t be up and around, and cooking only brought Louis joy when he was able to physically disturb Harry’s carefully sorted recipes or interfere bodily with the messiest ingredients, Harry did most of his baking at home, sharing the product with Louis only after its completion.

To that end, Harry had just pulled a batch of pumpkin cookies from the oven when Robin walked through the door, home from work. Harry smiled at him and began scooping the warm desserts onto cooling racks, not bothering to stop when the phone rang, as Robin stood nearest it.

“Hello, this is Robin speaking,” he answered.

Only the scrape of Harry’s spatula sounded against the cookie sheet.

“That depends.” Robin glanced at Harry and took a deep breath, walking towards their sliding porch door and opening it, the phone clutched beneath his chin. He closed the door behind him.

Harry had a sour gut feeling. Nowadays he’d been giving in more and more to his nosey nature, so with little hesitation he left the spatula and scampered up to Gemma’s room. He slid up her window silently, leaning his ear against the screen until could hear Robin’s conversation below.

“Yes, I have supported him in the past.” Pause. “Personal reasons.” Pause. “Alright, let me ask you this; where does he stand on gay marriage?”

Harry froze, the wire of the screen cutting painfully into his earlobe.

“And that’s his official platform? Then I can’t support him.” Pause. “You could say I’ve changed my mind, sure. My son is gay.”

Inside Harry’s chest something heavy dislodged and floated up to his throat, exiting his mouth as a whimper. He catapulted away from the window as if it had stung him and flew back down the stairs, grabbing up his spatula just as Robin stepped back through the sliding door.

For a brief moment Harry thought he could be nonchalant, that the tears under his eyes would cooperate and stay hidden. But as Robin hung up the phone Harry couldn’t contain himself. He ran to Robin, plowing into him and hugging him fiercely, his chest heaving in silent sobs.

“What’s this?” Robin asked gently, holding Harry tight. “It’s okay, Harry, I’ve got you.”

Harry let himself be held. Between his sobs he managed to whisper, “I love you too, Dad.”


	33. "A Time To Plant... A Time To Heal"

Louis could use crutches moderately well by the end of August, a severe case of being cooped up motivating his progress. They didn’t go many places besides back and forth to Harry’s house, but this still provided a welcome change. Gemma had decided to remain home for the rest of the summer and she’d taken it upon herself to look into Louis’ future education. When he and Harry had arrived that day, she’d cornered them on the couch and deposited her laptop on Louis’ thighs.

“See, and this is the humanities building. The history department is legitimately one of the best in the country.”

Gemma sat to Louis’ right, clicking through her university’s website.

“And this is the business cluster, and the fine arts building is right there, behind the gym. The performance center is obviously located more to the edge of campus for easy access.”

Harry rolled his eyes as she chattered on, intent on selling the school to Louis.

“Gemma, this is all great, but you’ve forgotten I’m not terribly good at school.”

“That is a load of bullshit, Louis Tomlinson. Your mom showed me several of your essays and they’re brilliant.”

Louis actually blushed, the first time Harry had ever seen him do so independent of Harry’s direct stimulus.

“Of course Louis is brilliant,” Harry added, cuddling closer to him and squeezing Louis’ left hand tight within his own.

“It’s settled then. You can apply this year and take courses at the community college next semester, and then start university next fall.” Gemma looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“I’ve kind of gotta have a way to pay for it, Gemma. Besides, if I work for a year Harry and I could go together.” Louis’ lips pulled into a hopeful smile.

“Ugh, you two are so sweet its sickening, but whatever. I’ve tried. You know it’s only two hours away, right? It’s not that far.”

“I know. But I won’t be able to work for… a while yet. And I do want to save up and stuff.” Louis looked down, his face twisting tensely in the way it did whenever he referenced his physical state. Harry had started to recognize his response as one of shame, and he tried to counteract it.

“Doesn’t matter how long it takes, Lou. You’ll get there. Besides, I’d love you around for my senior year too. I’ll need you.” He kissed Louis shoulder, hoping Gemma would catch his drift.

“It is pretty common for people to take gap years, actually.” Gemma closed her computer and removed it from Louis’ lap. “College will be ready for you whenever you’re ready for it.”

Louis smiled at her. “Thanks anyway, though.”

“Don’t mention it. Wait until next year, I’ll be a holy terror about Harry’s applications.”

Harry shook his head. “Please don’t remind me, I’m trying to forget that’s in my future.”

Gemma reached across and ruffled his curls before hoisting herself off the couch and disappearing into the kitchen.

“It’s still weird to hear,” Louis whispered, half to himself.

“Hmm?”

“Hearing about futures. Remembering I have one, now.”

Harry’s chest flared with the old ache, and he pulled closer to Louis, kissing first his jawline, then his cheek. “Lou,” he nuzzled into him, his throat tight.

Louis rarely talked about that night or his state of mind back then. Harry assumed he discussed everything with Helen and, perhaps, had even told his mom, but in general Louis didn’t like to revisit the hopelessness and pain that had driven him to do what he’d done.

“Yesterday Fizzy went with mom to the grocery store and came back with one of those bubble-gum prizes, you know? A pack of little rings. And I thought, someday, I’ll get to go pick out a ring. I’ll get to choose the color and style and stones and everything, and I’ll get to give it…”

Louis’ voice trailed off. After a moment he continued. “And everyone will be so happy. My parents, my sisters. I never thought I’d be able to look forward to that.”

Harry sucked a kiss below Louis’ ear, on his pulse, his body trembling with flushed anticipation. “Guess you don’t know who you’d give it to, huh,” Harry whispered, perhaps biting down just a little bit. Louis twitched beneath his mouth.

“Mmm. I have a pretty good idea. It’s someone I’m really in love with. A lot.”

Harry couldn’t take any more. He grasped Louis left hand in his own and guided it down to his hips, laying Louis’ pliant fingers over the sturdy bulge in his pants. Louis squeezed him gently and Harry keened.

“Is this what happens when I mention rings, then?” Louis teased, rubbing along Harry’s length lightly, making Harry despise the very existence of his jeans.

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly, squirming in desperation, kissing Louis’ neck harder.

“ _EHEM_.”

Harry jolted up from Louis’ skin to see Gemma standing at the end of the couch, her hands held before her face, shielding her eyes even as she addressed them.

“You two. Need. To get. A room.”

Harry placed his own hand atop Louis’, which still lay on his crotch. He gave Gemma a desperate look, motioning to Louis’ casted limbs with his head.

“Stairs?” He offered, weakly.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Gemma said, but she couldn’t stop a grin slipping through. She grabbed the living room throw blanket and closed her eyes as she shook it out and draped it over them.

“I’m going out. You’d better hope mom and dad don’t get home and walk in on you two.” And with that she hastened from the room, the back door closing behind her soon after.

Louis and Harry burst out giggling at the same time, laughing until their bellies hurt, until tears leaked from their eyes. When their breathing finally calmed, Louis squeezed him again, gently, a question.

Harry wasted no time. He undid his jeans, pulled the elastic of his boxers down, and jumped in pleasure as Louis’ warm, spit-wet hand touched him under the blanket.

“Lou…” It had been so long, and Harry craved his touch like a drug. He came inside a minute, his body worked up terribly. Louis left his hand there, tracing little designs along Harry’s inner thigh, through his hair, against the softening tenderness of his body.

Harry gave a ragged sigh before dipping his head under the blanket and immersing himself in the world of Louis’ hips. Louis had tented his sweatpants obscenely, the fabric at least loose enough that Harry could slip it down without disturbing Louis’ various casts and bindings.

Surprisingly, as Harry took him between his lips, Louis folded the blanket back. Harry startled a moment, but Louis simply looked down at him and smiled shyly, whispering, “I want to watch.”

In an unusual turn of events, Louis began to whine as he built inside Harry’s mouth. When Harry upped his tempo, taking extreme care not to jostle his boyfriend overly much, Louis’ whining grew.

Always Louis had remained quiet. He’d come silently, his tremors all that gave him away. Now he made glottal noises in his throat, sticky and percussive, and his lips smacked with spit as he let his mouth open and close. What began in Louis’ ribcage as a deep-chested moan built in volume until he gave a loud cry and came, spilling hotly against Harry’s tongue.

This stunned Harry to near-stillness, transfixing him with wonder as he sucked Louis clean. Gradually he pulled off and blinked up with shock, re-evaluating everything he’d known about his boyfriend’s climaxes.

“Lou? Are you okay?” He finally asked, because Louis had leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, mouth open, panting.

“Really okay, I promise.”

“You, um. You… what was that?” Harry giggled as he peeled the blanket from them entirely and stooped to grab several tissues from the coffee table to clean himself up. 

“Don’t know. I just let go, I think?”

Harry tucked himself back in and wadded the tissues into a ball.

“I think there’s lots more of that in your future, too,” Harry offered, giving him a peck on the nose.

Louis’ already flushed face turned delightfully pinker. “Kiss me again, Hazza?”

Harry did.


	34. And The Truth Shall Set You Free

Summer turned to fall, and school began once more. Louis spent a good deal of time in physical therapy, returning home exhausted and in pain. Gemma left for college again, though she made sure to return every other weekend to visit. Louis’ sisters resumed dance classes at the Y, and Harry managed to get his learner’s permit, enabling him to help drive Louis and the girls around, provided a licensed driver stayed in the car with him.

The issue of returning to church finally came up near the end of September. The Tomlinsons did not pursue a new church home, but Anne and Robin visited several places. This disgusted Gemma, but Harry pushed it from his mind. As long as he didn’t have to go, he didn’t much care. He spent so much time at the Tomlinsons, in fact, that he hadn’t really confronted any issues at home (Jay let him spend the night whenever he liked, provided they kept Louis’ door open). Harry’s parents made sure to shower him with love and affection, of course, and after his tearful embrace with Robin, Harry knew they accepted who he was.

But things with Anne had never really been resolved. Harry didn’t doubt her love, but a strange tension had sprung up between her and Gemma, stemming from that conversation on the porch, and Anne blatantly avoided talking with Harry about anything remotely concerning his gayness. When Louis did come over, Anne treated him as a second son, but Harry also caught her pursing her lips when he’d hold Louis’ hand or peck his cheek or sit pressed against him.

It all came to a head one day as Harry walked back to his room post shower, a giant, fluffy towel wrapped around his middle.

He found Anne sitting on his bed waiting for him, several condoms scattered on the comforter beside her. Harry’s cheeks turned bright red. Zayn had convinced him to take a few from the nurse’s office, just to have. Harry hadn’t even told Louis he’d stuffed the scandalous items in his pockets. Now, he had clearly forgotten to remove the little packages before throwing his pants in the laundry.

“Harry?” Anne said softly, but with firmness to her voice. Harry shifted awkwardly in his towel.

“They’re from school, mom. They give them out for free.”

Anne nodded in acknowledgment, then continued, as if it were a band-aide to be ripped off, “Are you having sex, Harry?”

“Mom.” Harry couldn’t look at her. “No.”

“You know homosexual sex is—“ She took a shaky breath—“Not the same. I worry about you.”

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t know what to say.

“This is hard for me, Harry. I’m not going to lie to you and say I don’t find this very hard. But I’m not naïve. You’re going to have sex someday, and it’s perhaps going to be with another man. I want you to promise me to be careful, every single time. Look at me, Harry. Can you promise me that?”

Harry met her eyes and nodded. He felt horrible, though, the old guilt and condemnation pulsing through his body. Though his mom accepted it, him being gay held no joy for her. She feared for him when she thought of him loving another boy, even Louis. This stung Harry in places he thought were healed.

Anne tolerated him being gay; she loved him in spite of who he was. Harry felt hot tears dampening his eyes and he couldn’t stop their decent to his cheeks.

“Honey?” Anne made to take his hand. Harry pulled away.

“I…” he hesitated. Gemma said these things, not him. He’d never wanted to risk losing the bond he had with Anne; he’d cherished it too much to tell her his real heart. But not anymore.

“You’re never going to be happy that I’m gay,” he finally managed to say.

Anne’s mouth fell slightly open in surprise. Harry continued.

“Every time Louis comes over you look at us like you pity us. You turn away when we touch, I’ve seen you, like it’s hurting you to watch me love him.”

Harry wiped at his dripping nose, his chest swelling with an odd courage he’d never known he possessed.

“Well it hurts me too, mom. It makes me feel gross and deficient, like I’ve been made wrong or something. And—“ Harry didn’t know where he found the bravery, but he heard himself say, “—and I’m not gross, mom. I’m not wrong. I really wish you believed that.”

The room hung silent, pregnant. Anne placed her hands in her lap and twisted at her fingers.

“Harry, I’m going to be very honest with you. Your father and I have believed that homosexuality is a sin for so long that it’s very difficult for us to change that now.”

“But you have a reason to change now,” Harry argued, biting down hard on his lip.

“We are trying, Harry, I can promise you—“

“Can’t you try harder?” Harry’s eyes spilled over in a stream now, and he realized his voice had grown loud. “Because I want to marry Lou someday and I want you to walk me down the aisle and I want you to be so happy that you’re crying and I want you to kiss me when you give me away and I want you to be _proud of me_ …”

Harry sank to the floor, the last year washing over him like a tidal wave, knocking out his breath. He clutched at his towel, sobbing, smearing the snot and tears across his face more than wiping them. Through bleary eyes Harry watched as Anne let her head sink into her hands. She must have thought he couldn’t hear her pray over his own tears, but he could.

“Father, how can I choose? Oh Lord… he’s my son, he’s my son—“

Harry couldn’t listen to any more. He covered his face with his hands and screamed. His throat was shot, and he sounded like a wounded lamb. In an instant Anne fell to the floor beside him and wrapped him to her chest, kissing his splotchy forehead.

In her solid grip Harry’s crying eventually calmed. When he’d progressed to only small, intermittent hiccups, Anne turned his chin towards her. When she spoke her voice had changed; it carried a new type of clarity, a steely conviction, and it sounded grounded in her soul.

“Harry. From the first moment I held you in my arms I’ve been proud of you. I’ve known you were gay since you were seven and—“ Anne looked up to the ceiling, blinking away tears, “—I never should have tried to make you someone you’re not. Because it’s you I have always loved, Harry, not some version of you I thought God wanted. My sweet, gentle, beautiful boy… it has been the greatest honor of my life to have you for my son.”

Her words coated Harry like a balm of warm honey. Yes, he started sobbing again, but they were good sobs, healing ones, and Anne began crying too, and for another moment Harry let himself be a little boy in her arms, because sometimes to move forward and grow up, you have to first go back.


	35. Epilogue: "And The Greatest Of These Is Love"

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Harry said from the passenger seat. Louis had insisted on driving, though Harry _did_ have his license now, thanks very much.

“Harry, map,” Louis reminded him, half rolling his eyes as he merged onto the two lane highway.

“Right, sorry.” Harry unfolded the cumbersome thing and set about trying to find where he’d marked their destination the night before.

“Looks like… we’re on this… for… um… until… until we see signs for Door County.”

“That was immensely helpful, Harold,” Louis quipped, somehow pinching Harry’s nipple without ever taking his eyes from the road.

“Ouch!”

Though December could be a hit or miss month for snow, on this December 22nd the roadsides were piled high with white. Harry counted wild turkeys as they passed ice-sparkling fields. The countryside’s stark bareness felt cleansing in a way.

As an early birthday present Jay and Mark had arranged for the boys to spend two nights up in Door County, a small resort town on the coast of Lake Michigan filled with Christmas shops and chocolatiers and ice skating and skiing. Harry had been counting down the days for weeks; he desperately wanted to get away from everything for a little while and have an adventure with his best friend. His boyfriend.

During the intervening months Louis had made remarkable progress, hence Jay’s comfort with letting the boys fend for themselves. His bones had healed well, and even his finicky angle had begun to shape up, though it had taken months of physical therapy to see results. Getting his strength back had been the hardest part, aside from the emotional healing. Louis still saw Helen once a week, and had even brought Harry with him several times to talk through some of the things they’d experienced together. Helen had encouraged them to branch out and make new friends, gently reminding them that though they had each other now, they no longer needed to hide themselves away and exclude the world.

To this end Louis had been volunteering around the LGBTQ community center when he wasn’t in physical therapy, and had made numerous friends. He mostly helped clean or answer the phone, but it kept him occupied and he seemed to relish being around other not-strait people. Harry understood the draw. It felt remarkably good to know you belonged somewhere, that people existed who were just like you.

Zayn had become Harry’s person in that respect. Harry’s coming out at school had been a soft one; those who didn’t already know didn’t particularly care, and if they did, Zayn would take care of their stares and snickering with a glare that could have curdled lemons. There were many more LGBTQ kids at Waukeegan North than Harry had ever imagined and he’d soon joined their little group. Halfway through the fall semester both Louis and Harry had made a lovely circle of friends with whom to share their lives, and refreshingly, their families welcomed everyone with open arms.

Harry collected his drifting thoughts as Louis slowed for two deer crossing the road. Sometimes he and Louis would sit in complete silence for a while, and Harry didn’t mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed just getting to exist beside his boyfriend.

Louis broke the quiet a few miles farther down the road.

“Wanna pop in that CD Niall sent?”

Harry twisted his torso and reached into the backseat, pulling his backpack to his lap and rummaging around inside the second zipper pouch.

“I thought I put—here it is. Are you sure? Niall has weird taste.”

“Can’t be the worst thing, can it?”

They removed the disk after one and a half songs.

“When you asked him to educate you on pop culture, maybe you should have been a bit more specific, Haz. That sounded like Swedish metal.”

“I’m going to specify a lot of things next time, trust me.”

Niall hadn’t come to visit over the summer, for obvious reasons, so he and his family came up for Thanksgiving. Harry had told him the whole saga over the phone, of course, and Niall came prepared with abundant sex jokes and far too many knowing glances for Harry’s taste. Niall absolutely loved teasing Harry about being in love, taking it upon himself to burn mixes of every love song he’d ever heard, then every song about sex, and by the time he got to songs about specific ways of having sex, Harry had begged him to include all aspects of pop culture, not just romance. Clearly Niall had met this challenge head on.

“Try this one,” Louis reached into the pocket of his door and withdrew another CD. Harry slid it in.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry dimpled as the first song began to play. Elvis. Blue Christmas.

Louis winked at him. “Nothing wrong with some old favorites.”

 

They pulled into the motel around midday, unloading their things before heading out to find lunch. Harry followed Louis’ lead and put this backpack atop his own bed—the room contained two queens—but his heart jumped a little when he saw the softly lit electric fireplace, pretty bedside lamp, and colorful knit blankets that topped the comforters. The room had been made for romance.

They found a café and got a bowl of chili each, then headed to the small ice rink across from the town center. Harry asked Louis ten times if he should skate on his ankle, but he assured Harry everything would be fine. As it turned out, they were both miserable skaters, and spent more time on their butts and clinging to the edge of the rink than anything else. Still, the experience served to expend some of their nervous energy, plus it got them cold and hungry again, and Harry secretly enjoyed cold Louis, as he’d cozy up to Harry and stick his hands in Harry’s pockets and twine their bodies together, snuggling in like a small kitten. 

Door County’s main street looked more decked out than Fifth Avenue. Christmas lights hung from every lamppost and rooftop and delicately decorated trees shone in nearly every store window. By four-thirty it began to grow dark, so Louis and Harry got to peruse by the soft glow of the light-wrapped maples flanking the sidewalks.

Louis found a candy shop fairly quickly, which didn’t surprise Harry in the least. Louis had a way of finding sweets like Chance found spilt food. He had to prevent Louis from buying an entire pound of fudge, a feat he knew Jay would have commended him for. They settled for a large piece each, and when they’d finished it, sticky chocolate staining their mouths, Louis admitted that he couldn’t possibly have eaten a whole pound, the stuff was too rich. Harry kissed him then, licking the sweet remnants from around his lips.

They stopped in an antique store, a candle store, and a store that sold an odd assortment of crystals, fossils, and carved woodwork. Soon the fudge had worn off and Louis mentioned dinner.

“Maybe the café again? The chili was pretty good, and cheap,” Harry suggested.

“Nah,” Louis swallowed, “I actually, um, had an idea about dinner.”

“Sure. I’m up for anything.”

Louis became strangely quiet as he led them down a side street. The walkways were less shoveled here, and the boys’ boots crunched along the icy ground. They stopped in front of a restaurant with large glass windows and a French looking name. Harry glanced at the parking lot and saw mostly Mercedes and black SUVs, and the clientele he could see through the windows looked older and like they possessed plenty of expendable income.

“Lou,” Harry turned to him, his eyebrows pulling together. “Here?”

Louis had bitten his lip. “Ya. Here.”

Not letting Harry protest further, Louis took his hand and led him inside. A hostess greeted them and Louis gave his name.

“I have your reservation right her, Mr. Tomlinson. Would you like to follow me?”

Harry blinked, taken by surprise. The hostess led them to a booth against the far window where one of the restaurant’s many Christmas trees gently illuminated the air. Harry also noted the candle burning on the table between them, smelling of cranberries and apple.

“You’ve been planning this,” Harry said, unfolding a heavy cloth napkin on his lap.

“Maybe.” Louis absolutely glowed with happiness, his blue eyes reflecting both the tree lights and the candle.

“Order something really ridiculously fancy, okay Harry?”

Harry looked up from the menu, his eyes large. “You sure?”

“I’ve been, um, doing some extra work around the center, since Janet is on maternity leave.”

Harry had only met Janet once. She and her wife owned a small cleaning business and tidied the center four times a week.

“You’ve been keeping secrets,” Harry teased, knowing both his dimples were showing and he looked lovesick and ridiculous. He didn’t much care.

“Only a couple,” Louis said softly. He briefly met Harry’s eyes before blushing spectacularly and returning his interest back to the menu.

Harry ordered something with duck. He figured duck seemed a fancy and exotic enough thing; he couldn’t bring himself to try the rabbit dish, on account of Harry Beatrix Potter. Louis got a crab scampi and decided on fried eggplant strips as appetizers.

The dinner tasted just as good as the price implied and Harry enjoyed each mouthful, though despite his best efforts he couldn’t finish everything. Louis insisted on getting dessert even though Harry told him his stomach might burst.

“Crème Brule never popped anyone yet,” Louis stated, getting one serving for the both of them to split.

By the time they left the restaurant they were both warm and sleepy with contentment. The long walk back cured them of that, though; to avoid parking fees they’d left the car at their motel, forgetting that the nighttime temperatures would dip into the teens. The biting air pierced through their heavy winter clothing viciously, but they coped by clinging together as they walked through the empty streets. Their breath mingled out in thick spirals against the dark sky, its vapors catching the moonlight and shimmering like ghostly spirits.

At last they arrived. Louis fumbled for the key in his pocket, his hands clumsy with cold. When he finally managed to open the door they tumbled inside the warm room and pried their jackets and boots and gloves and hats off, throwing them all in a messy heap by the door. Louis immediately went to the fireplace and turned it up, alternately blowing into his hands and holding them out to the warm blaze.

“Your nose is bright pink, Lou,” Harry observed, coming to stand next to him and mirroring his actions.

“So’s yours, Hazza,” he said, pecking it quickly with his lips. Harry giggled.

“Here,” Louis grabbed one of the knit blankets from the bed. “We should warm up a bit.”

He draped it around them both as they plopped to the floor before the fire. The fake logs of the electric fireplace fascinated Harry, never disintegrating as the flames licked against them in the same continuous patterns. The boys gradually grew warmer and eventually became heat-flushed and red from the blood racing to their thawing fingers and toes.

“Mmm,” Harry leaned his head against Louis’ shoulder. “It was a good day, Lou.”

Louis kissed Harry’s curls. “Still is,” he answered.

Harry’s heart climbed into his throat and lodged there and his stomach swam with nerves, less from apprehension than excitement.

“Is the day not over?” He asked, looking at Louis with wide puppy-dog eyes.

“Not quite,” Louis whispered. He stood a bit clumsily, letting the blanket fall from them to the floor as he offered Harry his hands.

Harry let Louis pull him up and lead him to the closest bed. Louis sat down on the edge and Harry did likewise, watching him closely because Louis’ face had gone very serious, his cheekbones stiff and sharp in the fire’s glow. He kept Harry’s hands in his, but he didn’t look up from his lap, instead gnawing on his lip and breathing shakily.

“You’re nervous,” Harry deduced, squeezing Louis’ fingers.

Louis smiled at that. “Not so much nervous, Hazza. More just… this hardly seems real.” He looked into Harry’s eyes then, such a deep, earnest longing etched in his face that Harry shivered from its intensity.

“This is how I dreamed it, Harry.”

Harry stilled as the revelation seeped into him. He cradled Louis’ words in his mind, memorizing them so he’d remember always.

As Harry scooted closer, Louis’ thin fingers knotted into the bedspread. Soon their thighs touched. 

“Hi,” Harry said softly, one dimple popping, all large eyes and soft lips and want.

Louis smiled shyly. “Hi,” he replied, still chomping on his bottom lip.

Harry’s ache had long since disappeared, replaced by a warm feeling of wholeness that pulsed inside him like a second heartbeat whenever he thought of his best friend, his boyfriend. It did seem surreal that he got to sit next to Louis and kiss him, that he got to be his true self, that he got to love and to be loved. God’s promise in the sky had come to mean something quite different to them now, a symbol powerful in its very subversion. The rainbow had become theirs.

“Harry?” Louis asked, his chest rising and falling thickly.

He didn’t have to say more, Harry understood.

“Yes,” Harry whispered, leaning in to kiss Louis’ lips, “Please make love to me, Lou.”

They tumbled back on the bed in a tangle of limbs, two boys in love, two boys alive, two boys who were going to be okay.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me through the end of this fic. I hope it helped/touched/healed you in some way. I know that for me, this process was massively cathartic, and I'm so grateful for both this platform and for you, the reader, being willing to share in this story with me. So thank you.  
> All my love,  
> Toni


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